I went to a ‘world’ themed house party last night, like a scene by Kerouac, all wit and sensuality. I was comically ambushed outside the toilet.
“Oh your kimono’s so soft.”
“Ooh let me feel…”
“If you do a poo, there’s a spray in there!”
I slept on a sofa. Portishead was playing.
This conversation I’d had that night was streaming through my head:
“Where did you go?”
“I went to Cambodia…”
“I heard it has a painful history.”
“Yes. Do you know about the Cambodian genocide?
He told it with an air of myth:
The aim was to go back to the beginning.
Living off the land.
So they had a purge of learning.
Anyone who knew anything.
They even persecuted those that wore glasses.
It wrecked the country.
As for living off the land.
People didn’t even know how to farm anymore…
When I woke up, music was still playing, in sombre, dreamy chords. The whole house snoozing.
I revised on the train back to Portsmouth, very drowsily. My coursemates and I had an amazing christmas dinner in halls… I made cranberry sauce for the first time – it's beautiful, and doesn’t taste bad either. I could get addicted.