August 8

A weekend in Newcastle with Phoebe and her lover Bruce- walking on the dog beach, Bruce regaling us with tales of canine passion- labrador meets golden retriever, schnauser meets doberman, chihuahua meets rottweiler. The beach is long and terminates with a red outcrop of soft rock at one end and a cluster of smokestacks at the other: in the middle Bruce and Phoebe stopped and I kept walking until I had worked myself into a state of low grade ecstasy where every touch of my feet on the sand produced the female equivalent of an erection. Driving back Phoebe told us about her grandmother who had advised her from a young age to 'keep herself nice' ('I thought she meant I had to brush my hair'), but wondered frequently in her cups why young women were ever homeless when they could pull out the furry chequebook in exchange for a roof over their heads.