Week Three, Day Three : Barred From The Madden In-Crowd

Call me paranoid but the signs ain't good. A bit of ferreting about in Shower Block & I discovered a gas valve in soft focus & later in the afternoon this seemingly innocuous addendum to Activities appeared beneath a Pony Trekking listing. It's not the threat of physical abuse that bothers me all that much, God knows I've done my time in the billiard rooms of some of Englands' finest schools, it's just I feel more strongly than ever that we have a euphamism in the woodpile. A turncoat in your parlance, a Spam-sucking traitor from the deepest portals of Hades in mine. There's not much that I miss : The cheese, the 'separate' washroom, the runs (not them, they're to come), the TOTAL lack of pasta at night & the endless glamour, through thick & through thin. See what I'm driving at here? So how come they knew where I was last week under the theatre? So how come they nailed Perry in fucking Gloucestershire? Not like it's just round the corner, is it? And how about this : We were woken at 4am by geese today & taken to Watersports Lake where I witnessed what was, quite frankly, unspeakable. Not even my Uncle Michael could perform such acts of depravity. On waterskis. I let it slip to Madden that I would make a run for the Boathouse where I would hide until darkness descended, at which point I would slip into Hanks American Bar & Grill, join Wednesday's 'All the Hits' Line Dancing Cabaret until the aftershow, then strap myself to the chassis of their touring Volkswagen & roll out at the first fuel stop. The plan was flawless & she knew it. I also feared she may have enjoyed those sordid scenes upon the water just a little too much. From my nautical vantage point I watched in horror as she whispered something into the ear of a man. But not just any man : It was Müller! And they were laughing together as if they were old friends. The bitch..! The only chance left to me was to reappear at 616 after the line-dancing as if nothing had ever happened. Where I was met by Madden & Perry, the latter on quiche, the former on salad. I trust neither, & unless it's an absurdly complex triple bluff which he will bring me up to speed on tomorrow I will have to look out for myself alone from this point on. All that bollocks about drinks in Trafalgar Square, utter stuff and nonsense..