April 24 (saturday): Saturday. I wake up freaked out but I go for a walk and get the saturday paper and its a great refreshing feeling. Its pretty much summer now and the bushes/flowers are smelling great the saturday morning strole past the football "stadium" to the paper shop is as enjoyable as ever. I plan to write, study and watch Kill Bill 1 but Chris then goes and texts me and I want to talk to him about last night and see how he did after I left. His version of events differ to mine and he is way more relaxed about things than me (I'm getting old and way too easily spooked it seems). We hang and then venture into town. It's slow and a daze and a struggle to find things to do/see/say. We go to town in the hope of accidently on purpose bumping into someone. We kind of do two people but they don't really count for me (ahem!). We have no money and no heart for anything. I want to go see Punt and Dennis at the Arts Centre in the evening but Chris makes it clear he really doesn't want to, he just wants to "go to drunk". His little 16 year old thing (nonce) keeps texting him to go meet her at the Colchester Castle Park, good haunt for paedos that I hear. We go back to his where is dog Jenny licks my belly and humps me, the highlight of my day. Chris cooks for me in the evening and I get reluctantly dragged out again for a second night running. I have little intention of staying out but want to make sure Chris is at least set up for the evening with someone to do/pester. We go to the Bumhole but they're closing and its only 9pm. What a shame, plumbing problems and its flooding. We're saved! As an alternative we go back to the Hogshead, nervous and anxious. It's actually very quiet for a saturday night there. We see no one we really know and feel left to our own devises. I again see Jeremy from football and talk to him a bit. The fuckers are there and eventually we reluctantly sit with them and blah blah about really nothing at all. I then see what I am sure is the glasser but Chris insists it is only his mate. Then I see the glassee. Oh my god, he looks fine, like barely anything happened at all. And he isn't seething, out for blood. Go figure. Whatever, the night is a lot more chilled and I end up sticking it out instead of leaving early and rushing home to Wag The Dog. We start talking to strangers about Consolidated and Will Oldham and they have no idea who we are with regards to music (that whole fling is now so officially over). I don't care, neither of us can really be arsed to flog a dead horse. We piss before leaving and as I left rip with one of those satisfying piss farts I squirt and begin to follow through, Atkins is shooting my insides to death. I wipe and my arse is bleeding (too much information). I go home sporting a strange expression.