Tried again yesterday to set up web page with geocities - gave up with the interminal uploading of photo, having already skipped writing the intro. Maybe I'll take a few days off and see if I can fit it in. (Am I missing something here, or is the internet a pretty shit piece of engineering, like the first bicycles - boneshakers - with solid wheels? And what's with the screen freezing? Is there a geek in the house?)

Carried on my discussion (in my head) of the meaning of pulchritude with teachers at college tonight, and common wisdom seems to be that there is actually no difference between the field of meaning of it and the word beauty. What a piss poor word, is my response. Not only does it sound like shit, it is. I had developed a whole thesis over the past couple of days that the Spanish meaning of the word (pulcritud) had infected my idea of its meaning (in Spanish it means neatness, tidiness,) and that it would be typical of the bloody Spanish to associate neatness with beauty, given the nation's reactionary nature. Ah, Barcelona, my one time spiritual home, how you have fallen short yet again. (And yes I do know they are Catalan, not Spanish in Barcelona, but they're a hell of a lot more Spanish than they are English.)

Chat with Dan in pub - we are both engaged in intermittent contact with ex boyfriends for the sake of neat, cozy sex, there being nothing quite so satisfying as having sex with someone who knows exactly what really turns you on. If you had it every night it would become boring, but no more than once a month, (with the usual outlets in between), it's fab.

No mention of the breath today, a reader writes. Not so far, it is true, but I was just about to mention walking through the tunnel between the Central line and the Northern line at Bank today, which devotees of the story will know is where the first miracle took place, and once again seeing the faces streaming towards me, each one a repository of many volumes of stories of love and adventure, hurt and bliss, and feeling again that connection with the world which made LT worth however much it cost, as well as my current feelings of resentment.

Love this story.

Just time to write a couple of lines: last night stayed at Chris and Trish's. Trish frisky as usual - taken with the new svelte me (as am I). I am not sure what she and Chris get up to. Chris and I went to pub and he suggested I should apply for manager's job in Westminster. Sweet guy. If the Camden job doesn't come up, maybe I will. Picked up Armand from the airport and met Joanna and Andy for Turkish lunch in Dalston, then back to theirs for wine and chat. Tonight cycled back from Armands but stopped off at a little club near his house, and got to practise looking into someone's eyes. Sexy guy, gave me his phone number, he's off to South Africa soon, and we have got such things planned. Will I give him a ring ? I might feel more like it if I hadn't seen him writing his phone number down for someone else. Hey, I know that's a little precious, but sometimes I need to feel special too. Will the housework ever get done? Every weekend is pregnant with potential pulchritude, and every weekend the dust gets a little thicker. Time for a RIVAS I think (Life Training jargon). Oh, I tried to set up a web page at goecities, but after the third screen freeze, I gave up. I will persist however, and get some photo links sometime. I did manage to set up a log in, at least. Fuck computers, they promise so much and piss on you so badly. (Just looked up pulchritude and realised it doesn't mean cleanliness - what a bugger; but in the process I came across the work 'puckfist' which I am not sure how I have managed to do without for 43 years. It means braggart, and doesn't it just sound like it. Onamateopian heaven.) (And if that is spelt wrongly, I just don't care - I' m like that).