Today. 29th May.

Bank Holiday Monday, I am to take her to Southend ... the place I only take people having the deepest touch to my being... A considerable break through in the long, interminable situation between us. Tonight she interrogated me on the telephone. Spent yesterday going to Calais on the motor bike to pick up a friend of hers. The mere fact of him being technically an illegal immigrant, the fact of him having been previously refused at Heathrow some months ago, none of this mentioned… conveniently forgotten. Only when we presented ourselves back in England did the story unfold. Business very slack at Dover, being a Public Holiday, officials had plenty of time to take a good look at us, realised why... everyone smartly dressed, every one frightfully happy ... these people were waved through, not the slightest hesitation. Remarkable I never saw one Black face, they too like myself and my friend, not really wanted. Peter looked upon rather like something the cat had brought in. His old Honda CX 500 motorcycle, rattling like a tin can (they all do). Not impressed with me and my friend from Poland. Most certainly polite. Immediately apparent that my friend was not going to be allowed in ... to be sent back ... they simply said to me "There isn't much point in waiting" the moment they saw his Passport. Hardly gone to France and back, in the pissing rain, blowing a gale ... fucked about for hours simply to be sent demurely away, not really having that. Tried to stand some ground so much as one man can do against a Political Strategy. They made it apparent I was wasting my time hanging about, made slight gestures towards me, pieces of paper, the odd questions, knew they were only kidding ... Not a trace of my friend since he disappeared between the portals...