Grip

'This is Guy. Strictly speaking cognomens aren't en vouge yet. But we're the elite here.'

It was Nathan

'M. Guida Pal. Cicero actually. Nova Roman you know.' The heavy gold bracelets spilling out from under his his thick hooded cloak said it all.

'I'm a guide too. That's what I've been doing for the last few years. Paving the way. There's a lot to talk about Jake.' Lauren looked guilty.

She handed me some wine. I gulped it. The mosaics were beautiful - Ancient Rome in Africa. Nathan, Guy, whatever his fucking name was, was watching me carefully. He couldn't stop himself from smiling.

'I've been waiting for this day for a long time' he grinned.

The full impact was starting to hit me. I was in another country, another time, in another body and the two people I thought I knew were giving me the distinct impression that what I knew was horseshit. This was nothing to do with drugs. This was serious. I finished the wine and demanded another.

Brown paper

Up Jack got and home did trot
As fast as he could caper
He went to bed
to mend his head
with vinegar and brown paper

I remember the smell of straw and animals. Background chatter and women crying. Laughing. Always laughing loud and at inappropriate moments. Panda called it 'pub laughing'. People were dying around me as I stumbled after Lauren. Shadowy characters, this was my dream.

I was dragged half-blind into a half-lit stone corridor that went down and down. The flicker of torches allowed the the odd glance to get my bearings. This was the underground connection between the amphitheatre and the main Roman villas in the the town. Smashed and rebuilt before Tiberius extended his rule into northern Africa. Somehow it made sense.

Butterfly

(Jake: 23 May 2003)

I am now officially leaving the jam jar. I took the last tablet exactly 14 days ago. Do two weeks constitute an adequate reality/fog buffer zone? It may all be a touch melodramatic actually. In truth, I’m not sure I notice a whole lot of difference at the moment – apart from the odd electric shiver and the fact that I am experiencing the most painfully rampant sex drive since my teens.

Having unsuccessfully managed to decide what I wanted for dinner tonight, I’ve spent some three hours systematically smoking gear and cracking off over some dog-eared porn that I keep hidden away for just such emergencies. The need was so great that I ransacked the orderly little piles of papers and knicknacks in the loft and, in the process, discovered some forgotten pictures of me and Lauren.

After my sex fury had finally subsided I spent some time going through the holiday snaps. Lauren and I had booked a last minute thing two years ago. She looked so beautiful. I so fucked it up. I think I still miss her.

At this point I really should really try and do something constructive. Perhaps I could finish off that fucking song. No doubt I’ll spend the last hour or so drinking, and jotting down mindless buzzwords or drawing grotesque pictures of cocks in one of my special books. Chin up, it’s the weekend. It’s not all bad – I could be you.