Sun 20 Aug 1972 – Tallahassee, Fla.
Turbulences & difficulties with husbands. Bud & Bruce went out to play golf, promising to be back at six so we could have dinner at Panacea and see The Last of the Red Hot Lovers. They were an hour late and couldn’t understand why we were annoyed! Bud is a heavy dope smoker and does everything in slo-mo - can’t understand why people expect anything to “actually happen” as opposed to “nothing happening” which is fine with him. (He must be so much fun to play golf with. Bruce keeps score and does his shots for him.) Honor worked out a complex mathematical equation proving that all men think their time is 1/3 more valuable than “women’s time.” No one can follow this at all. We didn’t leave dinner till 10:15! To me, cocoanut cream pie and Neil Simon are not equivalent exchanges. Honor and Bud fight over everything – it’s a miracle they’re still together. I don’t interfere but I’ve got to stop giving my opinion when asked. (I think dope smokers have opted out of all thinking processes and are basically telling the world – “mommy me, please”.) Since he’s opted out, everything – acts of God included – must be Honor’s fault and on some depressing level she’s OK with the power this gives her. Plus, Bruce and I sleep in the dog bed. (The dogs spend the night in bed with Honor & Bud but in the daytime they’re on our couch, scratching and sucking.) Bud has found a property for sale six hours from NYC in Devil’s Elbow NY, which is JUST GORGEOUS – 140 acres, a barn, a five bedroom, two-storey house for $14,000! Bud would go in on it with us so it would be just $7000. I have to admit this would be wonderful. Instant “country house”; the kind where you can also afford a city apt. (If we could figure out which city.) It only has one bathroom – I insist we would have to install another bathroom – we would get the upstairs and Bud would get the downstairs. To my surprise Bruce readily agrees; “if I can have an observatory”. Why would I object to him getting an observatory? Apparently you can buy “a kit” and the skies up there are amazing. I could “fix up the house” while Bruce is on tour. I have to admit this is tempting. Bruce secretly thinks this is a perfect way to “free” Bud from Honor who refuses to leave Tallahassee. I have to think about whether I want to live with a permanent sot, but since it’s not my money, it may not be my choice. Either we “own” or we “invest” – the former being clearly better. And then there’s the place itself. (The name of the town alone is worth the price of admission.) I remark that it must be haunted – that set Honor off. Screaming! But I can feel an entire volume of ghost stories waiting for me in that house. Pewter Hill, 26 Aug 1972 – Sat – 2:40 AM Put myself on an 800 calorie a day diet – two meals a day. It’s been OK so far – only need to curb the desire to snack. Being in this house makes me think about our house – mine and Bruce’s – how I will furnish it. What budget I will have. Bruce deeply asleep – Avril and I just finished watching Murder at the Gallop. Delightful. I could sit through a triple Rutherford feature. Bad moment driving Daddy to the airport – he was at his snarlingest – bitching at the traffic, bitching at the road construction – I tried cheering him up by telling him about Nashville only to get a lecture about wasting our money buying sportscars and houses! A Fiat sedan and a $7000 house! Why would I sequester myself away? He crabs. So I can think, I say feebly. He does not say the obvious – too bad you can’t think or how did I raise a girl who can’t think but I can tell that’s what he’s thinking. As always, discussing it later with Avril cheers me up. She says he’s been talking a lot lately about how important his job is (since Mom’s pressuring him to “retire”.) We make good resolutions about dieting and learning to get our feelings out. 1:00 Am – 3 Sept 72 – Aboard the Gryphon at Block Island Cold and rainy. We came aboard this cruise for sunning, swimming and being with the Old Folks but what we get is no sun, sweated labor, forced marches and the oligarchy system. Struggling with Strachey’s Eminent Victorians not improving my mood. I don’t get what the fuss was about him – I’d say he’s a point-misser. Give me Henry James any day – he totally “got” the Victorians. I’ve got to stop taking all these side trips in my life. Avril’s and my diet, so successful last week is hopeless here where we’re locked up with the food. People are fighting over chocolate bars – my mom has a stash of peanut butter cups no one else is allowed to see much less taste, hidden in the forward cabin. I am buoyed by the thought of “our house” (Bud not moving up till spring.) I know I can make it Bruce’s favorite place – he always says our apt (mine before he moved in) is “the best place on earth. (We will lose it with neither of us in school but I’d say it’s time.) I’m trying to be confident enough in his love so we can tolerate being apart, but I don’t know. Woke up crying from a dream in which he’d cheated. Didn’t Jesus say adultery was divorce? I think so. But Bruce has no time for Jesus.
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Wed. 12:30 AM 9 Aug 72
Wish Tamsin hadn’t suggested I write for children. Too many “twinkling eyes” for me. It would have to be a “horror” story. Of some kind. A modern day Alice. 2:30 PM – Cory’s trailer Nashville, TN Thurs 10 Aug 72 Hardest cross to bear is my TOTAL lack of creativity. Go where I’m sent and stay where I’m put. Despise myself. Bruce drove too fast to get here from Glen Burnie – I was nervous the whole way. He even made me feed him while he drove: “The driver’s comfort is paramount.” Cory has visiting relatives staying in another trailer – they invited us sightseeing with them. Said we were too tired. Shoshanna briefly said hi, talked about getting breast implants (she’s so excited about it) and went to work. Cory wanted Bruce to play his new stuff so Bruce hauled out his customized, personalized NBN – Cory very impressed. Likes When the Blues Turn Blue the way it stands – wants new lyrics to the Pony Express one. They learned Buddy Holly’s That’ll Be The Day and the Beatles In My Life. They sound good together. Bruce plays Chelsea Morning on the mandolin. Cory is playing in a barroom tonight but doesn’t want us to come – too shaming. Now they’re off to play songs for Mary Travers – in case she wants anything – so I have a moment for a shower & scribble. Trying to write a poem about Bruce but can’t – feeling soggy and mentally “dispossessed”. 11 Aug Fri – 5:25 PM Bad news buried in good news – RCA exec saw Cory & Bruce at the bar last night (Bruce playing brilliant bottleneck on Medicine Girl) and asked them to play “original material”. They played You Know Me and Rose & Me. Exec guaranteed that some established artist will want to cut those songs!!! 10:10 PM – Sun 13 Aug 72 I’m ready to leave. We are too crammed in, every time I move I bang my head, there’s always someone in the bathroom and K’s relatives won’t go away. To go from Pewter Hill Park to a trailer is quite a change. I am never alone, and sex is impossible. (The moment everyone leaves Bruce and I fall on each other all over the living room tearing at each other’s clothes like a pair of famished wolverines.) I guess this is what a tour would be like (plus more drugs, worse food and an even higher proportion of idiots.) Maybe when I am 40 and have five children I will feel differently but right now, when we’re in love, sending the beloved away seems like insanity. But if that’s what Bruce wants… I am reading Hope Muntz’s Golden Warrior – Bruce tried Peaceable Kingdom but says omniscient narration hopelessly passé. I don’t agree. How about the “collective unconscious”? What would it say? I’ve got him there but only because he can’t think up an answer, not because he agrees. In peaceful disagreement, we digest six pounds of Tennesseans instead. Spent all day yesterday at Opryland (which gave me a pounding headache) then had a splendid chicken dinner and went to the King Richard (it ought to be called Poor Richard’s) to hear Cory & Bruce play. Cory had the sense to call old singing partners Richard Carpenter and John Logan who now form Carlo Sound. (They used to be in the Chad Mitchell Trio all clean-cut with banjos and striped shirts!) I didn’t tell them I knew nuns that liked their music. Everybody played (Bruce on mandolin) – they regaled the whole bar till 3:30 AM – nobody wanted to leave – it was magnificent! God I love Bruce and am so proud of him. Can hardly believe that face & body – that brain – belong to me. Finished Golden Warrior – stilted language. Edith Swanneck a little too like Melanie in Gone With the Wind. A dish of sacrifice is best served – frozen. (Or thrown out.) Now Bruce says he wants to visit Bud & Honor! More nights of sleeping on a couch! Plus Honor is jealous of everybody and takes the desire to be alone for five minutes as a personal insult. On the other hand in a week I’ll be at Pewter Hill with my beautiful Avril. Wed 16 Aug 72 – 3:00 PM RCA man Dan Hoffman is ratcheting things up – no front money but he thinks Cory has three solid hits. (No word yet where Bruce fits.) Naturally Cory wants to leverage this into a bigger, more expensive tour. Bruce has changed the strings on his guitar and now he’s changing Cory’s – they need to practice Rose & Me for the agents meeting. Cory & Shoshanna got into an immediate fight (right in front of us) because she wasn’t enthusiastic enough (“don’t you roll your eyes at me!”) I understand – it’s the lack of money. “You do all the work and maybe…” is hard to hear when there’s bills to pay. The argument really was Cory’s fault. At a certain point he’s thinking a “loyal wife” would “fake orgasm” over his news. To him it’s better than money to hear Dan say “including you we have the four best writers in Nashville” and “You can write circles around Kristofferson.” To his wife, words are cheap. 10 PM Gorgeous dinner at the Bavarian village for some reason got my sexual juices flowing – realizing that Cory and I are in a subtle battle over Bruce & his magnetism. (It’s funny, Bruce & I ought to be battling over Cory’s “status” focus”.) When we got back to the trailer and they started rehearsing I began a new story about three people in love. Three people could be “in love” (very Colette) but what happens when two of them form a more secret alliance? (Secret alliances breed secret alliances. Period.) Might they not want to murder the innocent third, and feel very justified about keeping the dead lover “innocent” forever in the world of pure sharing, outside the cruelty of greed & exclusion? Called TripleTrack at the moment… 3:35 PM Tues 18 July 72 – in the air over the ocean
So tired I cried. Embarrassment around Bruce only makes me cry harder. “Airport tax”, $4 coffee, it all makes me cry. Hideous. Wanted to buy Grand Marnier for my parents but it was more expensive than in Spain so I wept over that. Apologize to B: just “stupid.” Getting a little tired of Agatha, Dignified duchesses keep reaching into their beaded bags for revolvers and uttering “streams” of “foul abuse”. What abuse, exactly? Couldn’t you be more specific? Simenon never falters. Tried reading Helen MacInnes Message from Malaga but couldn’t get halfway through. Utterly meretricious. Ashamed for her. Bruce looks up from the boring Love Machine (he wants to know how write a bestseller) to have an embarrassingly braggy conversation with a total stranger. Total one upsmanship. I can’t see what gratification it gives to blather on in a slightly mendacious way to someone you’ll never see again. Bruce argues to me that a writer should be a chameleon and melt into the locale until invisible. Isn’t this a contradiction? I think there’s greater pressure to conform on males than on females. I really liked Dorothy Haynes’ story The Head. In the midst of the grossest viciousness, the discovery that love and immortality are indissolubly linked. Love is the passionate discovery. A fresh universe revealed. Thinking about Mary McCarthy’s article in New Yorker – as fast as Calley and his men were killing people at My Lai Colburn & Thompson were rescuing them. Pewter Hill – Sat-Sun night 22 July 72 Feeling sad and frustrated as I always do when Bruce falls asleep before I come. I lie awake thinking of Toss Sheffield of all people. The one who got away. The one I failed to impress. Last night in the midst of a thunderstorm Dixie gave birth to nine puppies. We watched the whole thing. In the morning one was dead and another was gone – Dixie must have eaten it. Full family dinner argument about homosexuality becomes about whether people can learn tenderness if they are born without it. Mom steadfastly insists it’s buried in there somewhere but has been mangled by “bad experiences”. Fails to explain Richard Speck, however. Well, he must have been “insane”. Loving Celia Fremlin – The Hours Before Dawn and Possession. The pervasive sense of threat and or poor equipment to cope. Want to read everything she’s written. She’s a missing spice – I plan never to go without again. (Bruce doesn’t see it at all.) Prisoner’s Base has a mess of an ending, The Troublemakers her all-around best story. Possession a bit mangled (glad there’s room for me.) Bruce reading Gabriel’s How to Write for Money. He says I need to set up a card index filing system. I cab just see me toting that around. Bruce wants to go on tour with Cory; I want to buy a country house and stare slack jawed into the “middle distance”. Bruce says I can’t go (but would I want to? Doughnuts, French fries and truck stops; the Superfluous Female.) I superstitiously feel that if we spend more than one night apart we will we lose the capacity to recognize each other. Bruce says why can’t I be the same kind of wife as Cory’s Shoshanna. Is this the approaching “sacrifice” Mom is always muttering about? I always thought “sacrifice” was a “thing” – what if it’s a person? Most specifically, me? Good idea for a story. Tues. 2 Aug 72 So desperate I am reduced to using ballpoints. Ugh! Another fabulous writer – Elizabeth Fenwick. (Friend of Mary Rose, Disturbance on Berry Hill.) She’s not as good as Fremlin but she’s very good. Gives one furiously to think, says Hercule Poirot. She’s not quite “big” enough. She wants her tales to fit unremarked inside a larger pattern. It’s a pleasure just thinking about how to “open up” those stories. So much work for me to do. Mary McConnell’s Open then the Door (sadly stupid title from sadly stupid quote) is the diary of a person going slowly insane. Interesting. Ever since Turn of the Screw, haven’t we all adored the Untrustworthy Narrator? Midge Turk’s Buried Life even better if what you want is mental illness. Seems like a process of narrowing down. That would make mental health a process of “opening up”. Without fear, presumably? Sounds crazy to me! Became convinced that the problem between Bruce and me is these two damn twin beds “pushed together”. We can have sex but not lie in each other’s arms. Took him down to Auntie B’s empty chamber – big, clean bed, what bliss! I wonder if other “psychological problems” have real physical causes. Rereading Devon’s love letters is probably not good for me. I don’t talk about Devon to Bruce and Bruce doesn’t talk about his first wife. (They ran away at eighteen- the marriage was annulled.) But Bruce thinks love is “in people’s heads”. Well, duh! But he means that dismissively as in “not a real thing.” People decide to be in love, they decide to not be in love. This is not what you want to hear your husband of seven months say. And it’s not what Devon says… “Ever since Elvira Madigan your eyes are the eyes I see with…” He can say in letters what he couldn’t say to my face. Wishing I had it to do over. If he had just gradually stopped writing from South America that would have been one thing. His last words were, wait for me, don’t forget me, remember me – then he flew from Logan with seven sets of skis. Then silence. Creepy. I think the difference between us is he assumes he can’t have what he wants. Takes that for granted. I think I can. So many things I didn’t tell him – like I knew he had an ulcer and was taking pills. Like I knew his friend asked for a threesome (Devon said no. But he didn’t tell me – the friend did.) How could we lie in each other’s arms all night and not talk? Stupid, stupid, stupid. He was invited to my wedding but didn’t answer. I pretended it was Mom who was inviting him. I wonder what I would say to him now. He asked to read my diaries – I actually regret saying no. If he had read them would he have loved me more – or less? 2:00 AM – 13 July 72 - Wed
Sunburn! Finished deCamp’s Citadels of Mystery which I found very interesting. Have done a lot of reading on this honeymoon but no writing. We are scheduled to go home July 21 – good thing since we are absolutely broke (especially after buying leather outfits.) Will buy a watch in Geneva if I have any dough left. Read Peacock’s Nightmare Abbey and Crotchet Castle – the first was the funniest. Rev Dr Larynx no match for Folliott. Now I have to plunge back into Shelley Circle books – first thing I’ll do when I get home. Seven Masterpieces of Horror very entertaining – especially Castle of Otranto. I hunger to complete my gothic – must put a ghost in – de rigueur. Had the good idea that everyone sees a different ghost – the ghost that’s haunting them. Monk Lewis’ Mistrust much better than The Monk – though equally littered with mangled, heaving bosoms. Ah, hotel life. This really does feel like a honeymoon. We wake around 10 – Bruce calls for breakfast – I bring in table & chairs from balcony. Then we go to the pool or down to the beach. Playing In the surf is definitely the most fun thing to do. Lunch is four small courses – always starts with soup. Bruce always has consommé and I always have gazpacho – I could wallow in the stuff. Then an egg or a rice course – pretty bland – followed by a meat course, which fills us up. Bruce always has pastry for dessert and I always have cherries – though sometimes we order glace or flan. They put three carafes of wine – white, red, pink – on the table for lunch and dinner. Afternoon is for siesta, making love, assuaging sunburn and reading. Tea or drinks down by the pool. Dinner is at 9 or 9:30 and I wear my long Chinese dress. Soup de jour – always very good – fish and “boiled vegetables” (usually potatoes and green beans) then ham or chicken, which they claim, is “veal”. Fish usually a mass of bones. Our waiter is Manolo “Jefe” because he has charge of a group of little boy waiters. We get him because we always want to sit outdoors on the terrace – his special province. He has scars on his eyebrows – weird jagged ones – and all over his cheeks and the suspicion of a cataract in his left eye. He asked if we were Mexican (because of Bruce’s Spanish accent.) We have to ask him for water every time – he always forgets. (Bottled water here.) I send Avril a suede bag for her birthday. Fri. 14 July 72 -1:00 PM Sitting on terrace awaiting lunch (train leaves at 2:30.) I read CP Snow’s Death Under Sail for the same reason scientists study one-celled organisms – you can clearly see how they do everything. (And I thought I would like his mysteries better than the Lewis Eliot novels.) Very “Sixth Form”; not even marginally believable. For example, most people say they can keep a secret but actually can’t. You wouldn’t trust your life to a thing like that. At least he is not going through the motions like Ngaio Marsh (Tied Up In Tinsel) the hotel has a huge supply of paperback Brit mysteries. Who was that guy who said books are games? Well reading Snow is playing a board game with a three year old – it’s never my turn and I can’t possibly win. Women characters are creatures from another planet – not people at all. (Agatha Christie knows WAY better than that.)Bruce asks me about y reading – I say I am educating my taste. He says I ought to worry about other people’s taste. But why? The whole point of being me is to find out what that is. Bruce reads to me from his book – Arthur C Clarke says men and women have an “unstable” relationship until the arrival of the first child “stabilizes” it! You could just as easily say the reverse! I tell Bruce BF Skinner said in Walden 2 that age 15 is the perfect age for motherhood! Because then you can play with your kids! Let’s hope he’s revised his views since then. I discovered last night that Manolo is 27! Having 5 kids aged him a good 20 years. Train to Madrid – 6 pm Really enjoying Agatha Christie’s Halloween Party, even though I spotted Rowena Drake as the murderer from the very beginning (never thought of Michael Garfield, though.) Bruce and I amuse ourselves by constructing a mystery with a detective named Tench, assistant named Buffin. 7:20 PM Geneva station – Mon 17 July 72 All night sitting up Madrid to Paris – but from Paris to Geneva slept a lot. The watch store kept showing me monstrously ugly watches, insisting nothing elegant is self-winding. Bruce took their side saying now I am old enough to wind them up! Finally got a bracelet watch (bigger than I would have liked) of pretty squares. Self winding. $90. The Asturias Hotel, Madrid, had the most magnificent elevator – glass and wooden cage, very creaky, and a bellboy named Beezer. Gives me Buffin’s first name – Beezer Buffin. 3:30 AM Fri 3rd Mar 72
I’m in a bad mood and Bruce has a cold. Bubbles (our new hanger-on of indeterminate gender we met sat Bruce’s Cellar Door gig) brings over old folky Cory Dario – a John Denver-y singer who needs help copyrighting his music. (Says he plays “countrypolitan”.) Bubbles is a fount of contacts (Bringing in Emmy Lou Harris who is selling real estate in the area and just getting known.) They played Bruce’s Will You Be Ready to Go? and Appletree for hours and I fell in love with Bruce all over again. As soon as they left we made love 3 times. Bruce says my “problem” is I like keeping “secrets”. I must say I was surprised. I don’t think that is true. I just have a lot of lawyers and many of them not share-able. Yet. Thunder & lightning storm. The band has received a new mix of Newfoundlady from the studio that is way better than the other one – unfortunately they are sick of the song. I appreciate the problem – must be awful to do the same thing over and over. Ugh! I would hate it! Bruce had an emergency meeting with Buster and Dillon, thinking they have to kick Judd out. He apparently called my father and told him they weren’t ready to record! What a weirdo. Dad very cool about it saying obviously they lack leadership. I think Bad Heart will have to break up. 8 Mar Wed 72 Working on The Logical Place quiet as a mouse - nobody threw me out of the meeting with George the producer so I was allowed to stay and listen. He is very upbeat and confident about the band’s future but says they have to get together a “stage show.” Bruce hates the idea. A possible drummer arrives late tonight – staying here. I am getting my hair cut hoping it will become suddenly manageable. The Quay – Weymouth England – Thurs 29 June 1972 Nice new book. My favorite sign since I’ve been here : BUNKERING PUMP – SHUNT CAREFULLY. Bruce and I walked from the RR station with all our luggage looking for a bed & breakfast – were finally sent to this “poor widow” who kept saying, “I shall have to charge you for that” keys, bath, sheets all extra. We kept saying, “No, no, no” reassuring her. We are actually flush with cash from selling Bruce’s mandolin to Spencer Davis. Landlady confided in us the horror stories of a Poor Widow running a Guest House Alone – couldn’t get away fast enough. Guest book is a blank encyclopedia left by a door-to-door salesman. Roast lamb last night at the Miniature Restaurant – last ride on our Brit Rail was yesterday. Saw a pheasant in a field calmly watching the train go by. Reading Ngaio Marsh’s Death in a White Tie – not bad. Tarragona, Spain, Sun, 9 July 1972 No writing: seems I resort to my diary only when I have things to explain to myself. (Wailing and/or dithering.) That’s why losing last book (red-stained with rosewater cologne – in Oxford I think) was no great loss. Bruce never shows any interest in my diary although in Maryland he used to ask me to look up what we were doing a year ago. Seems like I can’t go anywhere around here without Bruce, which is a pain. The beaches were covered with people – everyone sunbathing – I had the sea to myself, which was glorious. Then when I wanted to sunbathe I had a man and four bys standing over me for an hour trying every language they could think of and flicking water on me. They would not go away. Last night I was the only person in the pool: literally a crowd stood around and watched. Makes you wish you were invisible. 3:30 AM Fri 3rd Mar 72
I’m in a bad mood and Bruce has a cold. Bubbles (our new hanger-on of indeterminate gender we met sat Bruce’s Cellar Door gig) brings over old folky Cory Dario – a John Denver-y singer who needs help copyrighting his music. (Says he plays “countrypolitan”.) Bubbles is a fount of contacts (Bringing in Emmy Lou Harris who is selling real estate in the area and just getting known.) They played Bruce’s Will You Be Ready to Go? and Appletree for hours and I fell in love with Bruce all over again. As soon as they left we made love 3 times. Bruce says my “problem” is I like keeping “secrets”. I must say I was surprised. I don’t think that is true. I just have a lot of lawyers and many of them not share-able. Yet. Thunder & lightning storm. The band has received a new mix of Newfoundlady from the studio that is way better than the other one – unfortunately they are sick of the song. I appreciate the problem – must be awful to do the same thing over and over. Ugh! I would hate it! Bruce had an emergency meeting with Buster and Dillon, thinking they have to kick Judd out. He apparently called my father and told him they weren’t ready to record! What a weirdo. Dad very cool about it saying obviously they lack leadership. I think Bad Heart will have to break up. 8 Mar Wed 72 Working on The Logical Place quiet as a mouse - nobody threw me out of the meeting with George the producer so I was allowed to stay and listen. He is very upbeat and confident about the band’s future but says they have to get together a “stage show.” Bruce hates the idea. A possible drummer arrives late tonight – staying here. I am getting my hair cut hoping it will become suddenly manageable. The Quay – Weymouth England – Thurs 29 June 1972 Nice new book. My favorite sign since I’ve been here : BUNKERING PUMP – SHUNT CAREFULLY. Bruce and I walked from the RR station with all our luggage looking for a bed & breakfast – were finally sent to this “poor widow” who kept saying, “I shall have to charge you for that” keys, bath, sheets all extra. We kept saying, “No, no, no” reassuring her. We are actually flush with cash from selling Bruce’s mandolin to Spencer Davis. Landlady confided in us the horror stories of a Poor Widow running a Guest House Alone – couldn’t get away fast enough. Guest book is a blank encyclopedia left by a door-to-door salesman. Roast lamb last night at the Miniature Restaurant – last ride on our Brit Rail was yesterday. Saw a pheasant in a field calmly watching the train go by. Reading Ngaio Marsh’s Death in a White Tie – not bad. Tarragona, Spain, Sun, 9 July 1972 No writing: seems I resort to my diary only when I have things to explain to myself. (Wailing and/or dithering.) That’s why losing last book (red-stained with rosewater cologne – in Oxford I think) was no great loss. Bruce never shows any interest in my diary although in Maryland he used to ask me to look up what we were doing a year ago. Seems like I can’t go anywhere around here without Bruce, which is a pain. The beaches were covered with people – everyone sunbathing – I had the sea to myself, which was glorious. Then when I wanted to sunbathe I had a man and four bys standing over me for an hour trying every language they could think of and flicking water on me. They would not go away. Last night I was the only person in the pool: literally a crowd stood around and watched. Makes you wish you were invisible. |
Alysse Aallyn
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