I should not have responded to Mike Taylor's call yesterday. He wished to have a fire up on the hill, which I admit was actually quite nice, seeing the sunset in the distance, the view of the town, rolling hills and the sea, then the waxing of a near full-moon. It was rather picturesque. Even so, I was foolish to have done so. All I could think about was getting stuck in to working on my current assignment, and all Mike could say was vulgarities in a rather banal accent without pronouncing his 't's properly, which merely served to irritate me. Yet, I kept it together, and was good company. I found it amusing that wherever Mike went, the smoke from the fire followed him around the entire time, and each time he switched places, the fumes ever drifted in his direction.
I then went to see Wolfae. What a bloody disaster that was! Good grief! I am now completely certain that she is not only neurotic but has serious stress issues. Hell, I get out of joint when I am verging on examination results or fretting about having insufficient work, but blimey! This lady is most certainly not a nice person. She laid in to poor Phil the archaeologist (as though he was not depressed enough already!) in a scathing attack on his person for no good reason whatsoever. I said to Phil that if he wishes to stay at mine, that is no problem. I fear the piss poor state of my house as a bachelor put him off, so instead of having to endure a little untidiness, he must suffer being yelled at constantly by an unhinged hellcat instead. She is two stops up from West Ham (Barking), mad as a box of frogs, as cRaZy as the cat lady from around the corner. Good heavens, I do not wish to visit her again and have little will to go out and shoot the breeze with Mike.
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