I'm going to move to Wales and have a bee hive in my garden and make homemade honey and have about 8 kids, and when they all move out and go to live in London, I'll one by one replace them with cats. I'm also going to learn to massage professionally. That is my life plan.

Well not really, but it would be buff. Maybe not Wales, maybe Cornwall - maybe not 8 kids, maybe 3 or 4 - maybe not massaging, maybe etymology but all the same. Wow. That's the one. That's what I want to do.

Wales was nice. Such an escape. Just wrapped in a duvet high off my face and staring out of the window, chatting to whoever was about. London is so shit. Coming back here is just like... eugh. It's depressing. Sure, a disposable lighter doesn't cost �1 here, and cheap Vodka isn't �12 but... the countryside is so much nicer. I'd rather go on long walks up mountains any day of the week.

The tripping walk was so fun. Everyone took loads of Acid or 2CB or both and then we went on a walk down to the lake. The path was so muddy that at more than one point it was over the tops of my ankles. I complained for a long time because my boots had a hole in them, but eventually I realised that fuckit, I was already muddy, might as well enjoy it. I really began to enjoy purposefully stepping in the most muddy places. I didn't get any more or less dirty and wet than I would have anyway.

Then the other time where we all got quite drunk and... I can't remember what else... I seem to remember Speed... and climbed up...well a hill. We all referred to it as a mountain but it was a fucking hill goddammit. A pretty small hill as well - about 15 minute walk / climb to the top but yeah, basically it was pitch black and everybody was fucked and there were ... steep drops. It was funny though, it was all good.

Apart from that, mostly just lazing around and getting high.

Fucking brilliant.