Had that two hours leave this morning. Was hardly enough to get home and back via bus and taxi cab on time. Hoping for five hours tomorrow but I’m not holding my breath. Can’t relax in here, restless. It’s a long day. Sat in reception eating a Wispa Gold. New admission — old man. Roger. Funny. Walks around openly insulting the staff, saying the evil that the doctors do goes before them. I heard him addressing another new arrival as follows: “There’s nothing special about you, young man.” Isn’t that a great first line to say to someone you’ve never met before? There’s nothing special about you, young man. Reckons he was an assassin for the government. Avoiding the desserts and biscuits. A lot of the long-term ‘service users’ have protruding bellies. One of them looks nine-months pregnant. That’s a product of too many years of institution sponge puddings. Wandered the corridors with my iPod on, and danced a little in my room. Clue: Life is never too bad if you’re dancing along with it. Started typing up this journal on the notebook I bought from another patient for sixty quid. Don’t care about WIFI, only need Word. I have other valuables in my room but I always leave the door open, otherwise it’s a hassle getting the staff to open it for you every two minutes. A recent airplane disaster has put things into perspective. Brought in some rice cakes for myself. They’re one of my chief diet foods. Back to puffing away on the bog, drilling rollies like they are going out of fashion, and spending pure coin on the vending machines to boot. Dairy Milks, cappuccinos and choco-milks. Thinking about a motor when I get out, but it’s more attachment, more money, more problems. Might just stick to the push-iron bike and prioritise a holiday. Always dreamt of a cruise ship, for some reason. Never coming back here again if I can help it: I’d rather suffer the remnants of my destiny alone in my torture chamber. Oops, did I say torture chamber? I meant to say one-bedroom Golgotha. Sorry, I mean flat.