Wasted a whole day on a trip to Ostia, just because the guidebook said it was ‘worth the trip’. Ha ha ha. It’s like Brighton with less piercing stores and no actual fun stuff to do. Haven’t heard from Mike for like three days. Fuck that pea head. God I feel miserable.

A

28/06/2006

OK I’m actually done with this shit.

I honestly don’t know how I thought coming out here with Beadle was a good idea. I should’ve known better. She’s always been an obsessive little loser. She is like a sixty-year-old. We’re like a sixty-year-old couple, making polite conversation, then turning in for the night at 9 p.m. WHAT IS MY FUCKING LIFE. Thank God there’s no Radio 4 here or we’d be catching up on The Archers like my granny. Two days before we go home and what does she do? She plans a trip to THE VATICAN. ‘But the fresco in St Peter’s is breath-taking. Look!’ And she shows me her stupid Lonely Planet again. I don’t give a fuck about the fucking fresco! And you can’t see shit in those black-and-white pictures. ‘Really, it’s an INVALUABLE piece of history!’ I don’t give a fuck about the Pope either and the only time I enjoy looking at nuns is in horror movies when they get possessed and their heads start to spin. Beadle’s too meek and I’m too nice and so she gets it her way, so maybe, really, she’s too clever and I’m too stupid, I don’t even know any more. All I know is I am done with her today. So I’ve stayed behind. Fuck venting in this notebook like I’m a schoolgirl, too. It’s sunny outside, I’m going for a walk.

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I just cannot believe it.