Thursday Eve:

Loaded with comfort down to the boat only to find it isn't there. Meet up with friend (female) and head for the Thistle Inn. Choked with atmosphere. Try to excuse myself past an eighteen stone coloured friend to get a double whisky and come within an inch of being knifed for my trouble. Coloured friend enquires if I like Maoris. I do. Rozzers arrive and escort coloured friend to lockup.

Back to the ferry (there this time) and into the bar where surly stewards are pouring seven ounce glass in a marvellously egalitarian way—the froth exceeds, but only just, the beer. The lads start getting toey. Glance out the window and observe we still haven't left port. Four cops and a dog get on board. Noise subsides. Unruly persons (27) are placed in brig. Rick Lake has his grog confiscated. A most uneventful crossing.

Friday Morning:

Fantastic Ilam buildings; especially Studass. Tournament HQ efficiently manned by inefficient people. Pass off my billet to some tearful 12 year old rowing cox who hasn't got one and go to NZUSU to argue whether a 73 year old greatgrandfather completing a thesis on the food possibilities in dung, but only spending 8¼ hours in the pub on Wednesdays, is eligible to marry a 21 year old Bantu volleyball player whose scholarship pays her Students' Association fees.

Friday Afternoon:

Go to watch surfing. Surfing isn't on. Surfing is never on when I want to see it because of an on permanent wave wind, or boondogles, or something. Go out to Lincoln. Charming mixture of old and new buildings. Christchurch architects please head north. Rub up the billeting man the wrong way and get put in the cricket pavilion for the modest sum of $7.00.

Friday Eve:

Dinner at Lincoln. Idly wonder why the rest of the diners look like Belsen survivors, but cease to wonder after meal. At least I think it was. As if by way of compensation there is a marvellous little campus bar. Drink. Dance. Move in on friend (female), Miss out. The cricket pavilion is bloody cold.

Saturday Morning:

Wake up. Somebody is shaking me asking if I will umpire a cricket match between Lincoln and Massey. I will. Appalling. Eat lunch. Appalling. Watch some poor wretch being led away for trying to get a second course. Back to Ilam to see athletics. Nothing startling. Go over the road and watch great cricket match between Vic and Canterbury. Canterbury win off last ball of the day. Full marks to Goat Gowland for bowling on the sticks.

Saturday Eve:

The Drinking Horn. Caledonian is packed, spillage high, organisation non-existent. Breakages commence. Horn is called off for the first time in its history. Black marks. Canterbury. Meet senior member of Vic executive. He has been drinking in the Horn. He is drunk. Off to the Drench (euphemistically called a Rigger Strings). Marvellous. There is a big difference between an organised shambles and an unorganised one. Fights break out. Leave to take in the Tournament Hop. Senior member of Vic Exec is now leading a community sing. The audience is unresponsive, if not dead. We liven the place up some. Watch idly amused as senior member of Vic Exec converts bicycle and pedals off to Lincoln.

Go back to Lincoln and have a few nightcaps. Move in on friend (female) again. Miss out again. Must be losing my touch.

Sunday Morning:

Sit in on NZUSA meeting. It is very hard to work out precisely what is being discussed, but I think it is whether touring NZU Student Union Caretakers should wear a polka dot orange hooped ones Two hours of discussion. It's hoops unanimously. Tough shit. Old Boys.

Senior member of Vic Exec arrives. He does look well. Oother Vic delegate (the compassionate wee thing) passes note to Otago delegate, a doctor. Note reads: "(Senior Delegate] has an eye infection. Really." It looks like a massive hangover to me, and I am gratified to see the reply from the worthy doctor: "Rx dog urine." Senior delegate collapses. He wasn't joking after all.

Monday And Tuesday:

Drunken nights and hazy days, Sorry, editor, that my copy wasn't in earlier. It has taken a week to dry out. (Me, not the copy.)