I went out to the union bar again last night. Brandies is it’s name, and I must admit it’s not at all like how I had always imagined bars. I thought they were small, crowded places, carpeted in red with mahogany furnishings. To be sure, a small part of brandies is like this: the bar itself is indeed mahogany and equipped with the quintessential pull-taps, but away from the bar, the room opens up into a huge hall, suitable for dancing. There is a stage, and two pool tables in one corner.

As a person who, back home, spends evenings in his room on a p.c, I have decided that its high time I experience what I call ‘bar culture’. Brandies is just round the corner from where I now live and, as I don’t fancy the prospect of sitting alone in my room of an evening, it seems I can just walk to brandies for an evenings entertainment. It isn’t so much the alcohol – for I never drink more than 2 pints – as the people whom I meet there. It seems a good place to make friends. Why then do I feel so guilty about it? Why is my brain getting so puritanical on me. Argh. I sound like my mum.

Anyway, last night I met this bloke. I had got there early, after tea, and the place was nearly empty. About eightish I got chatting to a mature student – a family man waiting for his rugby-playing wife. We chatted about all sorts of things: he was a decent, helpful guy, unafraid to call me names. I decided to tell him about my current PA problem, and he said he might be a possible candidate. He sounded well-suitable, but I thought it prudent to proceed through official lines, so I asked him to look for the add in the local press. It will probably come to nothing, but at least I have yet another cool new friend.