Saturday 8 December

Good lord! A wonderful night of eating, drinking and dancing, capped and interwoven with perhaps my most favourite thing in the world – ploughing the dark and moody/light and gay streets of night-time Manchester with a beautiful woman by my side. It is Daisy – of course. She is celebrating her newfound freedom yet there is nothing more captivating than her in this form. Dressed in purple, hair cascading, drinking cocktails, laughing loudly. I am purple, hair departing (in clumps), drinking whiskey, pronouncing in trembling tongues. Still, I persist - that devil in my belly sees me distracting her from a friend’s carrier pigeon by kissing her neck and hair. Biff is up & out with his friend (Buster) and us three reprobates having kidnapped the poor woman take her on to dance like incensed shoreline natives protecting their private island. Back at the flat I demonstrate my new daguerreotype machine (the results will break my heart for years to come). Daisy will stay over again but makes it clear we are ancient history (in 1862!), our days as a couple behind us (I’m 34!). Just four hours sleep and when she moves closer in the morning I fear it is simply for the warmth (Miss Jordan forgot to stoke the fire again).

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