Since our return to Oxford, [V] and I have been seeing each other every day, and making love on most occasions. We are now very much used to one another, so that it becomes unnecessary for us to talk unless there is something that requires saying. And I do rather like it being this way - much in contrast to the situation that existed with any of my previous girlfriends. There is a closeness of spirit that emerges beneath such a mantel of silence, provided that one is feeling genuinely at ease with the person concerned. And [V] does have that kind of influence upon me. When she is there beside me, I just feel content. As soon as she arrives in my room, we are apt to curl up with our heads in each other's laps, until we feel it is time to do some more work. Usually we go out to dinner together - sometimes going back to Folly Bridge to make love afterwards. But I have to get her back to her hostel by 23.15 hrs, so it sometimes works out that we do not have sufficient time for such amorous attentions.

On Sunday there were a couple of parties, and I still find myself going along to them, despite all the pressure of my Finals coming up in a few weeks time. There was one in the morning that was given by Oliver F-P. I don't suppose that he would have been inviting me to it, if it hadn't been for [V]. But he is such a very nice person, and is making a huge effort to be both friendly and welcoming with regard to myself. He gives no sign whatsoever that he might resent my success with [V].

I went to work in the PPE reading room on Friday, and noticed that [O] was there. But [V] has told me that she had "a slight thing" with him one time quite recently, before she came to realize that he was married.

Now this is an example of how I'm never quite sure what I'm supposed to make of [V]'s pronouncements. I mean is she trying to tell me that she had an affair with him, or not? I am indeed inclined to suppose that this is what she is trying to say. But why the hell can't she be more precise in what she communicates? It leaves me without certainty as to what I should be thinking. It may be that some people would say that it can hardly matter one way or the other. [V] was no virgin - I know that. So if the name of [O] is to be added to list of former lovers with whom she has to be accredited, then that is something which I ought to be able to take in my stride. The fact that I feel discountenanced troubles me somewhat. Why should it trouble me? I found myself uncertain of how I should be looking at him. Hostile or friendly? But the uncertainty was perhaps worse (and more vulnerable) than either reaction.

I think this accounted for the depression which then enshrouded me. And it got progressively worse over the remaining part of the day - despite the fact that I was in [V]'s company, and she was endeavouring to be supportive. We went to see a film in Abingdon, and then back to Oxford for dinner at `The Elizabeth'. But I somehow couldn't surmount this feeling that [V] is potentially so much more at ease within a relationship of this kind, because she's done it all before.

She might well retort that so have I. But my personal feeling is that I haven't. Or there's nothing really comparable within my former experience - not any real knowledge of how to live in quasi-marital relationship with a girlfriend. (That with [X], or with [Y] fell well short of this; and it would be a mistake to count my sexual fulfilment with either [C] or [Q] as comprising anything sufficiently intimate for comparison.) I don't know how to contend with the qualms of jealousy within my heart. Or perhaps I should identify this as an awareness of my psychological insecurity, on sensing the presence of rival lovers within her own experience of life - an uncertainly on how I might really measure up to them within that vast, and as yet less than thoroughly explored, territory of manhood.

But the worst problem of all is my feeling that I can't really talk about these matters to [V]. If I had even started to indicate that I was having a problem to digest the existence of all her previous lovers (no matter just how many, or how few they might be), then I feel sure she would be disgusted with me - probably taking an instant decision to see no more of me. And that would be the worst possible outcome for me in the long run. It would saddle me with the knowledge that I had failed miserably - which is to say failing to match up to the requirements - in this first attempt to sustain a serious adult sexual relationship. And a memory of that failure would burn deep into my consciousness - perhaps into my whole attitude towards women. So I mustn't let it work out that way. I have got to contend with my own inner insecurity until I have vanquished it - or got it regulated into acceptable form.

The problem doesn't end there however. [V] senses my own insecurity, although possibly interprets it mistakenly. I think she identifies my restraint as some manner of hankering after the relationship with [Y] which foundered. And this triggers in her own heart some thoughts of the collapsed relationship with [J] - which brings me into direct comparison with him, of course. I am conscious of this when I am actually making love to her. It prevents me from feeling that I can let myself go, in a spirit of full sensuality. I know myself to be in juxtaposition to her thoughts of him within her own mind. And I'm painfully aware of the areas in which I must fare badly within such a comparison.

After all, I am someone who has been striving very hard over these past years to establish myself with an intellectual repute of some kind - not one that is entirely accepted by others, I daresay, but I do know how I have caused a few stirrings of interest for what might be regarded as the surprising originality of my ideas in certain fields. But if I set that standing against that of someone who obtained the Congratulatory First of his year, within the same field of study as my own, then it would be folly for me to offer any manner of contest for such an appraisal of excellence within [V]'s judgement of the two of us.

But it's quite absurd that I should permit myself, because of this area of inferiority, to feel undermined in all the rest of my courtship stance. There must surely be areas where the qualities in my personality stand supreme, and I should be able to understand that my identity is to be judged within those terms. But the fact is that I do feel myself undermined. It's as if I'm aware of [J]'s presence, lurking there in the shadows and mocking me - even while I am striving to monopolise her thoughts during the process of our copulation. And that's far from healthy of course. It's as if I'm aware that there is some portion of [V] which I can never hope suitably to impress - a part of her that I never shall possess, because it has already flown away from her, wedded to someone else. And that makes me wary of thinking that I can ever hope to become the sort of person whom she could admire with all her heart, or even sufficiently to warrant the degree of permanent relationship, to which I might aspire. At such times I find myself thinking that there can be no real future for us, apart from developing a tender friendship perhaps.

This evening Saturday, we were sitting in my room when I said something about the questionnaire that has been distributed amongst undergraduates by the magazine Cherwell. And [V] asked me what reply I had given on the subject of my political affiliation. So I told her that I had written down "Conservative floating voter." And this started a political argument, for she is an ardent Socialist. In fact she holds to the extreme position of supposing Socialists have a monopoly of goodness, when it comes to working out whatever might be right for the people. Conservatism she sees as the entrenchment of self-interest by those who already have power within their grasp. She says that she understands perfectly well how I come to view politics differently. In fact she would expect such an attitude from anyone who had been born into my sort of background - her own grandfather for example, is a staunch member of the Tory party - as indeed one should expect of a former Tory MP. But she holds that people are bound to shift leftward in their political judgement once they take a moral perspective on what should be happening. And I find something a bit frightening within that attitude - because she is taking the moral high ground, so to speak. It's the kind of thought which prompts people who have less than others to establish themselves in attitudes of class warfare. And I am bound to be amongst the losers if society begins to polarise in that kind of fashion.

It turned out to be rather too thorny a question for us to handle, so we didn't dwell on it for very long. But I knew in my heart how politics was one of the subjects where she identified quite closely with whatever [J] may have had to say on these matters. And that created a very big divide.

Afterwards we went over to Abingdon once again, to investigate a place which we had been told was a good nightclub. But it was really very dull. Everyone seemed to be behaving in too English a fashion. It was jazz music, but no one was jiving. We didn't stay for long.

So another full week has passed where I have been seeing [V] every day, and for the most part, everything has run smoothly between the two of us. But it's curious how I touch upon certain subjects where I suddenly perceive that I need to tread carefully - subjects which take me by surprise, like the validity (or otherwise) of synthetic a priori statements. I suddenly realized how my inclination to dismiss their validity, right across the board, was going to upset her greatly if I persisted on the issue. It must mean that there are particular tenets of her belief - in God, morality or whatever? - which rely upon such logic. And the sudden nervousness which I sensed displayed a fear that she might regard herself as vulnerable on this issue. Not that I regarded it as important that I should persuade her to abandon such ideas. To tell the truth I was more conscious how in this case, I might have stumbled upon an issue which had divided her own attitude to life from that of [J] - creating a curious sense of alliance between myself and her former lover. But of course I didn't want to give too much precision to this idea, nor even to discuss it with her.

On some questions of attitude, I find her making a distinct effort to meet me more than half way - in politics for example. She said that she did understand how, being what I am, I could hardly afford to be anything more than very mildly left wing in my attitude. And she made a joke of it in saying that it was perhaps good for her to be having a blue year, in that the previous one (with [J] of course) had been distinctly red. She also declared that, as she sees it, politics is something of far greater importance for a man, than it is for a woman - which is not to say that women ought to refrain from politics, but merely that it assumes a greater prominence within a man's aggressive approach with regard to how he should get things done. So with that declared viewpoint, she sees it as a woman's task to adapt herself (to some extent) to her man's political bias - which might be useful, if she really means it!

But I still remain uncomfortably aware how I am oversensitive to anything where I perceive [J]'s influence over her mind. And there are times when I catch myself being childishly resentful of things which shouldn't matter at all. I might take the example of her calling me "Hun" (abbreviation of Honey) as a term of endearment. To the best of my knowledge, English people do not employ this word in such a context. To my ears it sounds distinctly American - or Canadian, if I'm to suppose that she picked up the habit from [J]. And it makes me wince to feel that I'm receiving an address of tenderness which she learnt from him. It strips it of the tenderness, so to speak - leaving me once again in juxtaposition to her memory of him. So the mood gets sullied, rather than embellished.

May morning was on Tuesday, and we both got up around 05.00 hrs, in time for the dawn celebrations on Magdalen Bridge. It was so restrained however - hardly worth all our effort to be there in time to witness the occasional sight of the Morris-dancers making fools of themselves.

Afterwards we had an invitation to go along and have breakfast with Karl Leyzer, who was holding a champagne breakfast party. But I cannot really get used to drinking wine at such an early hour - even if it is May morning.

[V] incidentally told me how she had heard that Karl was the most terrible man. And she went on about the way he had got some friend of [J]'s sent down from Oxford for reasons that were purely political. Then it occurred to me that I was being told a story which I had previously been told by Karl himself, but which was now interchanging the hero/villain roles. And I certainly wasn't in any position to adjudicate on whether there might really have been adequate justification for the man to be sent down. But it was interesting to note how situations get judged so differently, depending upon the group with which you associate.

Then we went straight on to another party that was being given by Louise Hemming. As soon as I entered, I was dragged away from [V] and asked to pose for photographs with some beautiful black actress, who turned out to be Dorothy Dandridge, (who played Carmen in `Carmen Jones'.) The trouble was that I hadn't the faintest idea whom she might be when I was first dragged up to pose at her side. It was Tony Armstrong-Jones who was taking the photographs for some magazine. But I agreed to pose without anyone seeing fit to tell me what was going on. So I was thoroughly taken aback when this unknown beauty, whom I realized must be a celebrity, threw her arms around my neck and began stroking my hair, whilst Tony snapped his shots of us. I found that I was blushing scarlet, but there wasn't very much that I could do about it. But in my gaucherie, I made the mistake of asking her who she was - which from the slight grimace, I realized hadn't gone down well at all. In fact as soon as the photos had been taken, she simply turned her back on me, in the process of being lionized by others. Only then was her identity communicated to me.

I returned to [V]'s side. By then however, she was fuming that I should have been whisked off to pose with such a lady, whilst she had been left to watch what was going on from the fringes of the party, feeling like Cindy Loo (as she herself declared) - hurt and indignant. I wasn't permitted to mention the name of Dorothy Dandridge for the rest of the day, for fear of getting pummelled in the ribs by [V]. (And [V] packs quite a punch!)

The sheer muscle power that [V] can demonstrate was brought impressively to my attention when we took an outing in a canoe. I regard myself as being physically strong for a man - or at least tough and wiry. Moreover I've been quite an oarsman in my time. But sitting in that canoe, there was no question of me being superior to herself when it came to the task of propelling the canoe through the water with our paddle strokes. I even switched ends to see if it made a difference, but in either case she was proving herself the stronger. The canoe was always turning away from the side in which she dipped her paddle.

She knew how this was secretly distressing me, and she kept on making kindly remarks - like assuring me that it was just a knack, which I would soon acquire. But there was no way in which she was going to resort to the feminine wile of permitting me to outpower her with my paddle strokes. She can justly be proud of her strength in these matters!

On Saturday I looked into the Grid at lunch, and saw Ian R. He told me that rumour has it that [Y] was coming down to Oxford over the weekend, and this had the immediate effect of plunging me into a depression. [V] (when she arrived at my room) promptly perceived how there was something wrong, so I didn't make a secret of it - which would have been unwise in any case, in that [Y] did in fact turn up to pitch her sleeping bag in Francis N's room. But it didn't go down at all well with me offering this manner of explanation. The fault was mine of course, in that I was becoming increasingly morose at the prospect of hearing those drawling tones wafting across the landing to me. So in the end she told me quite bluntly that she wasn't going to stand for any of this, and that it would be best if we decided to make a clean break in our relationship.

This led to us sitting down and having a serious talk about [Y] and the problem she represents within our relationship. The point [V] was principally making was that it had been unfair of me encouraging her to suppose that I was available, if in reality my heart was given to another. I told her how I couldn't be sure how I might really feel for [Y] until after I've had the opportunity to live with her for a while. But in the meantime, I hardly felt that it was my duty to refrain from trying to love others. I would be unlikely to emerge at all from the general state of depression which was still apt to inflict me, unless I was prepared to make a start elsewhere. How it might work out in the end, I really couldn't predict. But the problem right now was to get through the weekend without permitting [Y]'s proximity to disrupt my equanimity.

She suggested that I really ought to put the matter to the test - that I ought to make a point of seeing [Y], thus determining how strongly I might feel about her. But I didn't regard that as the right solution. For the time being, I have no intention of trying to make any progress with her. In fact I'd really prefer it if it could be arranged that I never see her again - or not until the circumstances arise when I am seeing her, without any of her other admirers tagging along in the background. The situation then could be different. She might for example, be making a conscious effort to win me back to her. It isn't improbable that the future might hold this in store for me. But if I can only look forward to a continuation of the present scenario, then I've got to learn to drive her out of my mind for good. So it's true that I'm available - within the limitations I have described.

I do see how it must have been awful for [V], hearing me talk about [Y] in this fashion. (But on the other hand no worse than when I've been required to listen to her informing me about her affair with [J] - little though she appears to realize the disquiet that it causes me.) The trouble is that I could see just how unhappy I was making her, with all this talk about [Y] - which was by no means my intention. She very nearly decided to put an end to our relationship, although she eventually decided not to. We both agreed however, that it might be best if we did not see one another for the duration of the weekend - just to avoid this situation where I was becoming morose in the anticipation that [Y] was going to arrive at Folly Bridge. So I drove her back to her hostel.

There was another huge tangle over the weekend, in that I had received a letter (last Thursday) from [Q], asking if she could come and stay with me in my room. This wouldn't have gone down well with [V], so I replied that the situation would be awkward for me to explain to someone here at Oxford. And I feel quite sure that her friends have kept her fully informed on all that has been going on in my love life. Anyway, I said I hoped that she would understand my predicament, but I offered to try and fix her up with someone else, if she asked me to - having [H] in mind.

The next thing I heard from her was when she walked into my room on Saturday morning, enquiring if I'd got anything arranged for her - when of course I hadn't, since she hadn't asked. And the trouble now was that [H] had gone out somewhere, so I couldn't give her a firm answer. So I told her that I'd leave a note for her in the hall, to say if he could put her up.

When I did see [H], he refused outright to have her sleeping in his room. (So did Francis, Christopher and Alexander D for that matter.) And to complicate the situation still further, [Q] then neglected to return to Folly Bridge until after midnight - to find a letter from me to say that she must find herself a room in a hotel. I really don't know what manner of solution she finally worked out for herself, but I feel sure she had the ingenuity to resolve her difficulties.

When I came back from taking [V] back to her hostel, I was sitting in my room when I heard [Y] arrive. Francis then had the cheek to come in and ask if he could borrow my spare mattress for her to sleep on. I said yes a bit curtly. Then [Y] herself came in, to say how sweet I was being in lending her the mattress. I remarked that I was rather busy, and I said "Goodbye" as she took her leave. I noted how she was looking embarrassed, and perhaps even a little hurt, but I was taking a vicious pleasure in being unpleasant to her.

I got two more chances to continue in this vein. I was still lying in my bed when she brought the mattress back, and she paused as if she intended to arrange it for me. But I told her gruffly that I could manage this for myself, promptly rolling over and turning my back on her. Then later in the day, she came back to ask if Francis could borrow a bottle of whiskey. And she was standing there looking at me, as if searching for the right subject on which to open a conversation. But I never even looked at her properly. And when she said that she'd bring back the bottle, I told her that I'd collect it later from Francis.

Whether she has now returned home, I do not know - possibly not, since she may well be keeping Caroline L-T company, now that she's approaching the day when she is due to give birth to their first child. But I am fairly sure that she has left Folly Bridge. Anyway I hope so.

It had been an unpleasant experience, trying to get to sleep there in my room, while [Y] was just a few yards away - possibly in the process of making love with Francis. Or possibly it was to someone else, who was also sleeping in that room. Whether he is [Y]'s latest lover (or admirer), I have no means of knowing. On the one occasion when I actually ran into him, the exchange of words was distinctly cool. I do feel bitter towards [Y] for subjecting me to this experience. It would have been perfectly easy for her to find accommodation elsewhere. And the sad part is that I do not really see how my bitterness may be liable to diminish.

It has been my twenty-fourth birthday today, and must surely rank as the most unpleasant birthday that I've ever had. It has only been redeemed by a short drive around the countryside that I took with [V] - after scrapping the decision that we shouldn't see one another over the weekend, that is to say. I wanted to get right away from Folly Bridge, so we drove out on the road towards Banbury. I left the road at one point, and we found a hay barn where we made love. I then drove her back to Oxford, feeling a lot better than I'd done before. She is the only person to have given me a birthday present this year - an LP record and a box of chocolates.

On Tuesday evening I took [V] to a discussion-group meeting, where [W] and some other person were debating the pros and cons of parapsychology. [W] was firing his usual cynical shots against what he portrays as a gullible world of pseudo-science. [V] had reservations against his attitude, but quite largely because she finds him unkind. This was displayed in the way he attacked - one could almost say sneered at - some man in the audience, who kept jumping up to proclaim the merits of `the black box' as the panacea for all medical ailments. (The Chairman eventually bade him to sit down, or to leave. He left.)

By Wednesday it became apparent that [Y] had indeed left Oxford, in that I received a letter from her, thanking me once again for the whisky and for the loan of my mattress. I suppose this was intended as an opportunity for me to open up a correspondence with her, through which I could define the nature of the problem as I see it, and then work towards a reconciliation. But the fact is that I no longer desire a reconciliation. So I didn't reply.

On Friday I was invited over to Stonesfield to have dinner with the Roberts family. I went on my own, since [V] had been invited to some ball. Sarai was there - a Spanish girl whom I had met previously in Biarritz, as a close friend of Lita's, but it now seems that she is Dru Montague's girlfriend. She blushed crimson on seeing me, which I didn't know how to interpret. But it inhibited me from asking any questions as to what may have become of Lita - a neglect which I now regret, in that I have so few channels open to me to make such enquiry.

The evening as a whole must be judged as a bit of a failure - largely due to the behaviour of Mrs Roberts. I think it was because none of us were paying any attention to her, which widened the age gap between us, when she possibly prides herself on her success with young men. Indeed I used to find her quite attractive myself. But in the light of her performance on this particular evening, I cannot see myself falling under her spell.

We were all sitting round her drawing room, chatting individually to one another, while she herself was talking to nobody at all. She suddenly got up and stormed out of the room, knocking over her glass of brandy in the process, and then slamming the door behind her. None of us knew quite what to do or say, although her daughter Camilla urged us to pay no attention, in that "she gets like that"! Having made her dramatic exit however, she periodically summoned back her nerve to make a reentry, but it always ended with her storming out again. It made us all feel thoroughly awkward.

My own reaction was to cover up the awkwardness by behaving in a manner that some people might regard as a bit mad - gesticulating and throwing out absurd comments. Anthony Shiel then accused me of being drunk. In fact this wasn't the only hostile remark he made to me over the course of the evening. He made it his business to make a few critical comments about [V], for my benefit - "I can't think what you see in her. It's not as if she's even pretty."

I found this quite unnecessarily offensive, and it doesn't make me like Shiel any better. It's none of his business to offer me an opinion on my girlfriend - any more than I should feel entitled to offer him my verdict on his. (Quite a pretty girl, I'll allow - but utterly brainless!) I can take it from Tim S, who once saw fit to venture the same kind of opinion on [V]; but that's because he's a close friend of mine. Not so with Shiel however. There's an element of priggishness too, peeping out from behind a whole lot of Catholic cant. But quite apart from anything else, he was being so bloody rude.

Trying to put myself in his shoes, I suppose he resents that someone from outside the circle of London debutantes should be making a bid to become the chatelaine of one of Britain's foremost stately homes - someone wanting me for the sake of getting her clutches upon Longleat, rather than for any more personal qualities of my own. So he sees it as his business to open my eyes to her unsuitability. Fuck him! It's not particularly flattering to my own image of myself, to have to suppose that I'm liable to be sucked in by the type of woman that he describes. And I dread to imagine the kind of debutante with whom he'd like to see me paired. Well it could be that [Y] would be ideal for me, from his perspective - a case of intermarriage within the stately homes circle. But they'll damn well have to learn that I have a mind of my own in these matters.

I didn't remain there for very long after this. I made my excuses, and slipped away - calling in at Bevington Road to lob a pebble up at [V]'s window, just to bid her good night, and to regain some feeling of unity with her, after the offensiveness of Shiel's taunts. She came to the window, and we chatted for a while. She seemed pleased to see me, and I was pleased to discover that she had returned home relatively early.

I have been out with [V] on a couple of occasions since then, but I do not feel there is much point in my keeping an exact record of all such outings - not unless something specific occurs to effect our relationship. But it might be interesting for me to take an objective look at the present situation which exists between [V] and myself.

I do now feel perfectly at ease in her presence, and I greatly enjoy being in her company. But I don't think it would be honest of me to claim that I am in love with her. That is to say, I wouldn't exactly be miserable if I now lost her to someone else.

What I find particularly attractive is her capacity to empathise within a problem, so that she can envisage the situation from my own point of view. I also like her quietness, which stands in contrast to her occasional bouts of bubbling happiness. Her intelligence too, must surely be higher than most other girls that I have known. Where I might discern some slight cause for concern might relate to the traces of obstinacy, which I occasionally encounter. I am also wary of the way she looks down upon (even condescends to) what she might regard as my immaturity. When I sense that she is adopting an adult's holier-than-thou attitude, which an enemy of hers might identify as priggery, I am coming near to perceiving an element within her which might sicken me, if the bonding within our relationship were suddenly to deteriorate.

The question of her intelligence is of course double-edged in my appreciation of it. The fact that I'm never fully confident that my own IQ should be rated high leaves me feeling vulnerable, in the event of there being a disparity. I sometimes think that I might feel a lot more comfortable if I were partnered with a girl rather less intelligent than myself. It may well be that I haven't yet got myself sorted out as a human being, but I like to suppose that it's me in the driving seat within any relationship. Someone of superior intelligence to myself might take it on herself to guide my footsteps through life, so that I would forfeit the role of being master in my own house. And I wouldn't like that.

Then finally, there is this needling question of her (lack of) virginity. With half of my mind, I promptly tell myself that I am here being quite absurd - as if it really mattered. But I cannot shed completely the idea that I myself played along with both [X]'s and [Y]'s conviction that they ought to remain technically virgin, despite all the love play in which they permitted me to indulge. (That is to say their hymens were still more or less intact, after I had been making love to them.) And the idea that I was prepared to defer to their wishes in these matters, makes it all the more difficult to digest that [V] put no such restriction upon her own previous lovers. It niggles away at my self-confidence, as a mature adult copulatory male - as if I was somehow deprived of the initiatory rites in attaining such manhood.

Now I don't want to dwell too heavily upon all this. And I find it a matter which is far too delicate to discuss in any candour with [V]. I do somehow realize just how stupid I would sound if I were making these points. But my realization that I'm being stupid doesn't release me from the discomfort I feel upon the subject. One point of encouragement however, is that it does gradually seem to matter less, now that we are settling down into a happy and intimate friendship - in contrast to any specific sights upon marital wedlock. If the goal were to be the latter, then I must admit that the feeling of discomfort would be greater - which I suppose amounts to me saying that I discount virginity as being of any importance within a context of premarital affairs. But I haven't quite rid myself of the thought that it would still matter when it comes to the selection of a wife. And this could be tantamount to saying that [Y] still holds the edge over [V], with regard to my assessment of the preferred prospective marital partner.

Sometime - probably after I've gone to live in Paris, when I come down from Oxford - I should take this theme of fretting over a girl's virginity, as the subject for my first novel. There is so little of real significance which has so far happened within my life, that I need to focus my attention upon some area where I've had personal experience of the anxieties involved. I daresay that many people would indeed regard it as old-fashioned for an author to trouble himself about this subject. After all, it's a field that was adequately covered by Thomas Hardy, I suppose. But I suspect that successive generations might discover different angles from which to examine the subject. My own novel may well go by the title of `The Lost Ideal'. I might even write it in a faintly pornographic style!

There has been a lovely fine spell. On Tuesday I went for a drive with [V], stopping off at some woodlands south of Oxford which were carpeted with bluebells. We spent a glorious afternoon just lying there, in commune with the whole mystique of Spring.

That evening she told me that [J] might be arriving in Oxford (as early as next week I think) to take the exam for getting into All Souls. I wonder what the outcome of his visit will be? And it leaves me most uncertain of what my own reaction is liable to be. I do see how I don't have any right to expect her not to see him. And I don't really suppose that they will become lovers again - or not if he is truly involved with this other person. But the cerebral recollection with him is liable to threaten the precarious stability within our own sense of unity. So I feel uneasy and on edge. And it's most unfortunate that his visit is going to coincide with my own ordeal of sitting my Finals.

While saying this, I feel critical towards my own attitude. Why the hell should I expect her to remain faithful to me, when I haven't even committed myself to such an intent? And surely I should be able to see that it is only natural that they should meet, if only to tell each other what is happening to mutual friends? But I know that I am not going to feel at ease until I am informed that he has departed from Oxford, to return to wherever it might be. (Paris I believe.)

What I am discovering however, is that I do not trust her implicitly. I believe that she would tell me the truth if I posed any direct questions. But I'm not sure that she would perceive (where I myself might be perceiving) a need to reveal to me all of what is going on in her life. She might take the line that I am not mature enough to contend with the problems that her behaviour might raise, so that a limited version of the truth is all that (through consideration to myself) she feels right and proper to declare. And I know myself to be so vulnerable in these matters. I realize how some people might indeed argue that such a policy would be the kindest all round, with regard to the volatility of my own values. But I would hate it if I really do have to think that she is taking this line. And the uncertainty quite simply incapacitates me from working out what my own best line of action should be.

The nature of the problem is that we haven't yet developed any spontaneous candour about our relationship. If she laid down on the table all her thoughts concerning where our individual faults and weaknesses might be discerned, what qualities we each contribute to the association, and where we might be going from here, then we'd have a better chance to come to grips with the situation. But she probably perceives how I'm really too vulnerable, and essentially too unsure of myself, to be able to cope with such candour. And suppose I was to fling at her some of the thoughts in my own head - matters like her demerit because of having permitted others (before my time) to fuck her, with no manner of (falsely modest?) restraint - then would she not be equally offended? I might even say outraged. I cannot truthfully envisage that we'll ever be able to speak our minds to one another in this spirit of full candour, and I think that this is the real size of the problem.

It is within the limitations that we set upon our capacity to communicate with one another, that our scope for developing our relationship is curtailed. Our inability to discuss all the ramifications within our sex life does in fact raise barriers elsewhere. These inhibitions somehow block the development, so that I begin to feel we're in an impasse. And it means that there's a whole side to [V] that I am failing to explore. Or in terms of possession, that is a part of her which is never likely to be mine. We don't quite manage to bridge the gulf between the isolation of our individual identities. And I shall probably have to resign myself to this.

There was one conversation which I might put on record. We were on my bed and making love at the time, when she gripped me tightly around the waist with her legs. She said: "You may not realize it, but I've got you now, and you'll never get away from me." She said this lightly enough, virtually as a joke. But it brought me up sharp, and there must have been something of that restraint to be read within my expression. Anyway I noticed how she quickly relinquished her grip, and murmured: "Not really of course." And I felt badly at fault - as if I had rejected her. In fact I criticize myself in retrospect, in that she had been striving to come over to me in an assertion of our togetherness. But I didn't take the gift from her hands, and I fear that I offended her.

On Thursday was the Bullingdon cricket match against the Oxford police, on the Bailliol cricket ground, since Christ Church is still out of bounds to the Bullingdon's activities. But it couldn't really be counted as a success. I won the toss, and made the mistake of putting ourselves in to bat first - on the idea that the side who batted last would be too inebriated to make any runs. We had in fact laid on masses of drink, but the police were out on the cricket field so it became difficult to persuade them to gulp it down fast enough - which left us three parts drunk, and them three parts sober, by the time that we had ended the innings. And by that time there were too few of us who could perform competently as fielders - let alone as bowlers. A good half of our side just slipped off back home, before the police had completed their innings. So the game just petered out without reaching any legitimate conclusion. But if it will save us individually from any hostile police activity, then I suppose that the match can be said to have served its purpose.

There were also some big emotional troubles. Tim R and Jenny B have apparently been going through a difficult patch in their relationship. But when I saw him flirting with [V] I retaliated by going over and flirting with Jenny, who was indeed giving me quite some encouragement. Or what she told me precisely was that she had been beastly to Tim, in that she had told him that it was time that she got off with someone else for a change. She feels that they are becoming too well used to each other.

Then probing as I see it, she said that it was a pity that I didn't seem to regard her as being my own special type of woman. I have in fact thought that for myself - even though I do regard her as being sexually attractive. So I found it embarrassing to be confronted with the statement, verbally. I couldn't exactly deny it, so I just woffled in an attempt to give a contrary impression.

Things came to a head fairly soon. Apparently [V] had told Tim that he ought to go and speak to Jennifer for a change, whereupon Tim stumped off from the cricket field in a huff. In fact it was Tim's departure which finally brought down the numbers on the field to a point where it wasn't worth continuing with the match. So we all wandered back to the pavilion, and continued with our drinking there. Tim (who had by then rejoined the group) unfortunately overheard Jennifer saying to [V] that they ought to swap men for a while. (This was all recounted to me later by [V].) Jennifer said that she was sure that [V] would get on well with Tim, and that she herself wanted a change. [V] then tried to persuade Jennifer "to be sensible", and to go back over to talk with Tim. However it seems that Tim had been listening in the background - although it remains unclear to me whether Jenny in fact realized this at the time. ([V] thought not.)

Anyway it was at this point that I took note myself of all that was going on. Tim suddenly went up to them and declared furiously that Jenny was a bitch. Then he departed from the pavilion altogether, leaving Jenny looking surprised, but a little while later, she followed him - after which I finally saw that [V] was leaving as well. And I made the grave faux pas of calling after her: "Jennifer, don't leave me!" - to which she turned and replied curtly: "I'm not Jennifer!" But I couldn't very well run after her since, by that time, I was the only one left entertaining the police, and they persuaded me to come back to the police station with them for an additional drink.

When I did finally get away from them, I drove round to Bevington Road to see if [V] was there, but she wasn't. I called again after dinner, but she still wasn't back from wherever she'd gone. So I finally gave up and went home to bed.

Next morning Friday, [V] came round to my room before breakfast. She was surprisingly apologetic - seeing that it was my own behaviour which was at fault. But she also struck me as wistful and withdrawn. I couldn't really gauge what the mood entailed. I did ask her where she had been the previous evening, and she told me that she had been out to dinner with a man, his fiance and another man. The fact of not giving their names was perhaps a measure of keeping me at a distance. We made love. Then she got up, and she went off to work in the library - as I supposed.

In the meantime I went to have lunch at the Grid and, while I was sitting there, Tim came up to me with a grim expression on his face, to ask exactly what it was that I had said to Jennifer during the cricket match. I felt quite alarmed, but the truth of the matter is that I couldn't remember saying anything especially flirtatious to her at all - nor anything that might have been regarded as derogatory towards himself. All I could do was to give him a rough summary of the trivia which I could remember as comprising some portion of our chat - after which his expression eased somewhat.

Later I ran into Tim and Jennifer together. By that time they had quite evidently made up their differences, and were giggling away quite happily at their own absurdities. Jennifer was full of apology towards myself. Apparently she had told Tim - with a view to baiting him - that I had suggested we should have an affair. But it was a ploy which had proved more successful than she had been intending. Now that she had confessed to its falsehood however, they were completely reconciled. So it looks as if my good relations with Tim remain unbroken.

At teatime [V] came back to Folly Bridge to see me again, but it was quite evident that she was feeling depressed. What I found difficult however, was her reluctance to tell me what the matter might be - as if it were all too serious, or too personal for such divulgence. The secrecy signified a distinct barrier - a point which she must have realized, since she eventually volunteered some information. She told me that, on her way back home from the Bullingdon cricket match, she had met a friend who had awakened memories for her. She said there had never really been anything between them - "except for one night, and that was nothing definite".

The trouble with all these snippets of information is that I'm unable to know for sure what she might mean by them. For example, what does a phrase like "nothing definite" imply? No fucking? - but what else? Or is she just saying that the relationship didn't really get off the ground, despite a single copulation? It does make a tremendous difference in my assessment of these matters that I should be in a position to know precisely what happened. But if she doesn't choose to volunteer such information, than I don't see how I can press her for such detail.

I also find it disconcerting the way new lovers (or even quasi-lovers) keep cropping up in her conversation. Up to date there have only been two specific names mentioned. Before [J], there was someone called [P] and I think she went on a holiday abroad with him at one point. But it would seem that there are other men which are now implied, so that I have little idea as to where I really might stand.

This new person, (the one she met on her way home from the cricket match,) is apparently here to be interviewed for something, with a view to coming up to Oxford next term. (As a lecturer, or fellow perhaps?) But she says that after meeting him, she went back to have a drink with him. She said: "There seemed to be a complete feeling of understanding between the two of us." She had felt rather guilty about this, which was why she had come round to see me, and to make love with me, first thing in the morning.

As far as I myself was concerned, there was the niggling question of the identity of this former admirer? There were in fact quite a number of hypotheses for me to consider - starting with the thought that there might be no such person at all. I mean she could be playing a devious game, pretending that she has a lover - just to keep me on my toes. Or it could be that she's concealing the identity of [J] behind this fictionalized character. Or it could be that she was telling me the truth, and that the depression she now displayed was genuine, and by no means an act which she was putting on for my benefit.

I cannot dismiss the possibility that she may feel that my own behaviour requires retaliation - because of my playing her up with Jennifer, which is the way that she might see things. And my recent depression over the course of [Y]'s visit might be something that she desired to match. I never know what line I should be taking with her. For the possibility exists that she is vastly more sophisticated than myself about the way the world operates, manipulating that situation fictionally to her advantage.

I took the line that I should be striving to make her feel less depressed. But the reality of the situation was that I merely caught her depression, from a feeling that I never am going to come close enough to her to make adequate progress. I am in a complete impasse, and it worries me that our relationship may have reached a point from which it can only deteriorate.

It also worries me that it looks as if she lied to me. She had told me previously that she had been out to dinner with a man and his fiance - plus one other man. But she has now revealed that this was said so as to deflect the line of my enquiry from unearthing the identity of the one man involved. Now I daresay that I shouldn't be categorizing this as a lie, since it's rather more trivial than that. But it looks as if it was a deliberate misrepresentation of the truth - for whatever her reason may have been. And if she did this on the one occasion, then it might be that she has done it on others - dissimulating as she sees fit. It's not that I believe this to have happened, but the possibility cannot be dismissed - which makes me feel even more uncertain as to where I might really stand - because I have seen how plausibly she can choose to misinform me. So I feel alarmed as to the quantity of falsehoods that I might have accepted from her, without my suspicion having been aroused. The fact that she eventually came clean as to what she'd been doing, doesn't really absolve her - because it leaves open the possibility that she might misrepresent things a second, third or fourth time.

Something which had been arranged previously was for me to drive up to London with her over the Witsun weekend, on the official pretext of visiting her sister to see her new niece. Under the circumstances of the way that we were now feeling unsure of one another, it might have been wiser for us to have dropped these plans. But that would have been too negative a step, and we were both probably hoping that the worries could be resolved over the course of a happy trip up to London. I was also feeling that it might be too late now to think of changing the plan. But it was indeed with some misgivings that I set out on this journey.

[V] took me along to have a drink with one of her friends at St Anne's, before we actually departed from Oxford. This was Anthea Roberts, whom [V] tells me is in full agreement with Caroline Powell and Gina Conquey in finding me "divine". (A term which makes her giggle!) So it would seem that I do meet with some favour in the eyes of her friends - although I hasten to add that this assessment of my worth can hardly be said to be universal. Edith Ward is another of her friends, and I get the impression that she is looking me over with a critical eye, wondering why she has stooped to a mere Bullingdon Club socialite, after all the promise that she had shown in capturing the attention of [J].

Anyway we didn't stay for long at these drinks, and then hit the road for London, stopping overnight at the Poplar Hotel in High Wykham. All the usual embarrassment of wondering whether the proprietor really supposed that we were a married couple - and whether it should matter even if she didn't. (It's so silly that I should still fret about these matters - much in contrast to [V] incidentally.) And the mood wasn't right for the outset of a romantic weekend. I think there was a feeling in each of our hearts that things have started to go wrong in our relationship, and that we're both uncertain how to get back on to the right path.

We were sharing a rather small double bed, without any real wish to capitalize on that situation. In fact it turned out to be a night of silent friction, without any thought of fucking until the early hours of the morning. And even then I was pretending that I was still half asleep. But she knew it was just a pretence, and I could sense how this was making her nervous. There is indeed this element of considerable nervousness (or shall I say insecurity?) within her personality. But the net result was that we both became aloof to one another, and despite a copulation which was far more of an attempt to deny to ourselves that things were going wrong, we certainly realized that we hadn't got off to a good start.

The situation did gradually improve over the course of a day, which was spent driving all over the place, with visits to see Hatfield House, Luton Hoo and St Albans Cathedral - plus a visit to her Kindersley grandfather's old home, where she called in at the parish church to put some bluebells on her mother's grave. I think she regarded this as the nearest she could get to introducing me to her.

There were a couple of incidents worth noting. While we were walking round the grounds at Hatfield, [V] intimated that her friend [H] wasn't exactly complimentary in his comments about me. Apparently he referred to me the other day as "that young man who goes following you round with a dog-like expression". This might not be something that should be dismissed as a figment of his jealousy because, when I see [H], I am apt to feel guilty in that I have baulked his own amorous intentions, and I daresay there is a self-consciousness about my expression which he could permissibly describe as "dog-like".

But there was also the question of why [V] had seen fit to inform me of what he had said. I think it miffed her that her friends should regard me in such a light, and she may have been trying to induce me to appear differently, as someone more assertive perhaps. So that does give rise to some query within my own heart as to whether I really am deficient in such display, within my whole attitude towards her.

It is difficult for me to assess these matters. There is a tendency in me to behave too assertively all round - as when I seek to entrench my preeminence within the Bullingdon Club. But I suppose it's true that there are whole areas in life where I feel too little self-confidence, and where a more cringing attitude is discernible. Not that I would describe it as such within my own terminology. But the moments of uncertainty might look like that to other people, and I'd best watch out for that.

Later on the same day we were having a look round St Albans Cathedral, and I found myself identifying portions of the building as having been constructed over different periods - Norman, Early English, Perpendicular, or whatever. Now I do realize that my knowledge of such matters is rudimentary, but I noted how [V] was making a point of congratulating me on the extent of my knowledge of architecture. While initially preening myself, on reflection I began to feel silly. I mean I know damn well that she doesn't really suppose that I know very much about the subject. And I saw how she was in fact involved in an exercise to bolster my own self-confidence - which could only mean (in retrospective vision) that she perceives just how much I am lacking, and therefore needing, praise.

I think that [V] has come to the conclusion (correctly) that I am intellectually unsure of myself, and that this uncertainty is beginning to intrude upon the equilibrium of our relationship. There is a reticence gradually building up inside me, which I suppose relates to my mounting fear that I can never match up to the heights of scholastic achievement that were attained by the likes of [J]. I am heading for submission to an odious comparison in her secret thoughts of our relative standards, and I don't like it in any way at all. If it were possible, I might well choose to withdraw myself from such contrast. But that option doesn't really exist. My Finals are at hand, and I must just do my utmost to perform as well as I possibly can.

Perhaps I should have touched upon this point previously within my journal, because it has occurred to me that [V] does have doubts within her own mind whether I am her intellectual equal. I am aware how she has friends (like Edith Ward) who might be far too ready to suggest this to her, in the hope that she might turn her back altogether upon the more frivolously social Oxford cliques. And my lack of self-confidence on the subject of intellect is so much in evidence to her eyes, that it must surely augment her doubts.

I am aware for example how she has been trying to slip me a subtle intelligence test or two - like an enquiry as to what a particular word might mean. She knows herself all right, but she just wants to see if I do. And on the two particular occasions she did this, I know that I failed her test. The words involved were `tryst' and `quizzical'. I have looked them up since, to check on the meanings I gave, and know that I got their definitions just slightly wrong - which upsets me greatly. But it worries me even more that she is probing to discern my standard in such matters.

There has been another such instance recently, as well. One of [V]'s tutors in Psychology is Deutch, and she has been telling me that he is responsible for the invention of some device which puts "mechanical rats" through a maze. But they are controlled by the operator, so that (if I understand it correctly) it must furnish some manner of intelligence grading for this operator. And I was quick to notice how, when we were in the vicinity of the laboratories, [V] suggested that we drop in to take a look at Deutch's gadgetry. It was mentioned lightly enough, but I could perceive all too clearly the thought that was in her head. And I shied right away from any such participation in the tests she was intending for me, by pretending that I had other things to do.

What really troubles me however is that it is [V], rather than myself, who displays the edge of control over our relationship. Why should that worry me, I might ask. Well I suppose it goes against the grain of the cultural expectations of the society in which I have been raised - where the male is indeed expected to be dominant. And she expects me to be dominant too. So any thought of me not being fitted to dominate creates an atmosphere where the relationship cannot attain its potential maturity.

After our prolonged excursion round the countryside just north of London, we journeyed south and found ourselves a hotel in South Kensington. When we first asked for a room, I noticed how the middle-aged female receptionist was looking at us quite sharply. She in fact gave us two singles, so that I then had the embarrassment of having to go downstairs again to protest at her mistake. We were finally permitted to move into a double room, but her expression was full of disapproval.

Our plans for the evening went sadly awry in that we failed to get tickets for The Crazy Gang, which is what we had planned. So we ended up going to a cinema instead. We were then hoping to go to Humphrey Lyttleton's nightclub, but found it was closed. And since it was already quite late, we then returned to the hotel feeling irritable. However our night together turned out to be slightly more successful than the previous one - despite the fact that there is a growing feeling that we no longer want each other sexually, quite so much as we formerly did.

This morning Sunday, [V] went off to visit her sister Anna, in Wimbledon, and then on to see her grandfather, who is currently in hospital. I remained all day in the hotel, making notes for my Philosophy papers. I never got a single smile all day from the surly receptionist - not after seeing [V] leaving the hotel with her suitcase. I guess she interpreted the situation as one of me inviting a prostitute back to this hotel. But I was glad to find that, for once, I really didn't care whatever this stranger might be thinking.

We drove back to Oxford this evening, with the Witsun traffic still quite heavy. I'm afraid that the weekend cannot be counted as a happy one. The truth of the matter is that I can no longer regard myself as being in love with [V]. I may once have been, but I'm not now. I am increasingly inclined to suppose that we have no possible future together - that our relationship has been enormously valuable, to myself at least, (and I might hope to her as well,) but that we'll each find our permanent partners for life elsewhere.

Returning to Oxford was all rather depressing. I think [V] was hoping to find a note waiting for her (from that nameless admirer), on arriving back at her room. Whether or not she found one, I have no means of knowing - apart from the fact that she had sunk into a depression by the time she had emerged from her room. I was taking her out to dinner; but it was all a bit gloomy, and I dropped her back home again immediately afterwards.

On Wednesday I had a visit from [F], who had been out to a party at Lincoln College, along with [Y] it seems. In fact the two of them were spending the night in Francis' room. (I could hear [Y]'s voice wafting across the landing, whenever I went out to the lavatory.) I was glad that no one came to borrow my mattress this time - which probably means that my indignation was conveyed to [Y] after that previous occasion. (Ian R might well have said something to her.) What troubles me is that the mere proximity of [Y] still has the effect of casting me into a deep depression. But I was glad to note that, as soon as I learnt that the two girls had departed from Folly Bridge (early next morning), the depression lifted.

My real worries have been far more concerned with my relationship with [V], where the whole situation has gone awry. This is in part due to the pressures to which I have been subjected as a result of the approach of Schools. I have had to start a precise time table for revision, and that has entailed asking [V] to limit her visits to dinner time. She has also been suffering from flu all week, so has only been able to look in for short periods - giving as her reason that she's not feeling well, or that she too is under too much pressure from work. And to the best of my knowledge these excuses are genuine. But of course it does occur to me to wonder if she is merely good at simulating the conditions which she has furnished as excuses. If I were to suppose this however, it would undermine my trust in her. And there does remain this nagging uncertainty that she has told me the full truth, leaving me wondering if there might not be other reasons why she has been unable to see just a little more of me.

It is only natural that I should start wondering if the real situation might be that [J] is now in Oxford, sitting the exam for All Souls. Or it could be a question of involvement with that other friend she claimed to have run into, on her was back from the Bullingdon cricket match - if they are not one and the same person.

[V] had promised that she'd come and see me today, Friday, around teatime. Then after a pause she added that she might be late, since she would be having tea with a girlfriend. In the event, I sat waiting for her for a very long time. It was at 18.45 hrs that she finally arrived - accompanied by Anthea Roberts. And I noted how she was wearing some very nice new earrings - quite expensive as I might judge, not dissimilar to the ones I used to see in the shop windows when walking down the Rue de Rivoli in Paris. I didn't feel at ease, because of Anthea's presence I suppose. But in any case they didn't stay for long, declaring that there was something else they had to attend at 19.00 hrs. And just before leaving, [V] said something about going to a party in Christ Church, although she did add that she'd come and see me tomorrow.

The general upshot is that I simply don't know where I stand with [V]. The fact of bringing Anthea along with her must surely mean that she is deliberately keeping me at an asexual distance. Or could it be that she is preparing to pass me on to her friend Anthea, who has apparently expressed some liking for me? And am I to suppose that [J] has now reentered her own life? And if so, then am I to suppose that he is still unmarried? Or if it is the unknown admirer that she mentioned, then I simply don't know anything about the nature of his identity. I cannot judge the severity of the rivalry that he might represent. Nor can I assess whether she has been playing a double game with me over an extensive period of time, stringing me along while waiting for these developments elsewhere - which opens the door to all manner of falsehoods, past and present. I do not know what manner of conclusions I ought to reach.

It does begin to look to me as if this is indeed the end of the affair. Although she said that she will be coming to see me tomorrow, I may well decide to make some excuse on the grounds of having to put in some extra work for Schools. If we can avoid seeing one another until I have sat the last paper, we may find that the respite is beneficial to us. We may both by then be in a better position to know our own minds. And if she decides that she wants to continue seeing me, then I think I must force the issue of complete candour in our relationship. She must inform me quite frankly on all that has ever happened, and all that is currently going on in her life. I cannot keep track of the relationship as it stands, nor decide what I should do to make my adjustments to it.

I spent a thoroughly depressed half hour after she and Anthea had departed.

I was still feeling depressed about the general situation in my life on Saturday morning, so that I found it quite impossible to get down to any work. I finally decided to go for a walk instead.

Then a little while before lunch time, [V] arrived, and she was doing her best to impress upon me that she was as loving as ever - although there was this persistent undercurrent of tenseness between us, which neither of us could quite dismiss from our minds. I knew that I should find the means to identify with a greater candour just where I envisage the problems to exist within our relationship, but to do so was no easy matter. But I had a shot at it by declaring that perhaps she ought not to come and see me until she has got the situation in her own life properly sorted out.

Well in the discussion which followed, [V] would have me believe that I'd got everything wrong. [J] hasn't yet come back to Oxford to sit for the All Souls exam. She says that she did go to visit the (still nameless) admirer in his room at Christ Church, but she had decided there was nothing in it. And the earrings she claims to have bought herself from a shop in Oxford.

I simply do not know whether or not I should take her at her word in all these matters. I do not even know whether she wants me to take her at her word. I mean it could be that she intends to play on my uncertainty, so that I am touched by the anxiety which she engineers - a matter of balancing her uncertainty and anxiety about my own inclinations, perhaps. Or then again, it could be that she is just lying to me, without intending me to perceive as much. I ask myself whether she would in fact go out and buy herself a good pair of earrings, (at a time when I know her to be short of money,) which would indicate an unwillingness to tell me that they were given her by the admirer. And I ask myself if I do not have the right to expect her to identify these mysterious admirers, without even requiring me to probe for the answers that I am seeking. And would she see fit to identify him as [J], if this were in fact the case? In so many things I do not know where I stand. But there can be no real advantage in permitting myself to play with such doubts. It will be far healthier for me to take a decision to take her at her word, and just leave it at that.

Anyway this was the attitude which I decided to take. Therefore Saturday turned out to be a day of reconciliation. Our love-making was most passionate. And we spent some happy hours together - going along the river to watch the eights in their bumping races.

I do still find that I am making direct comparisons between [V] and [Y]. with regard to their relative suitability for marriage - not that I have any real intention of marrying anyone for several years yet. The more I think about it, the more I am apt to conclude that I am far too immature for such a serious step in life. In time, I might well evolve into a different type of person altogether, so it would be an invitation to disaster if, right now, I was to choose for myself that woman whom people would regard as my other half. I need to postpone any such decision until I have firmly established my position in the world. My future wife will then be able to assess me for what I have turned out to be, rather than as somebody who might turn out to be anything - and possibly not what she expected.

I once wrote that the kind of girl that I am subconsciously seeking might correspond quite closely in personality to my sister Caroline. That is to say, it may be true that I am looking for an elder sister type, on whom I could depend over periods when I feel unsure of myself. It's true that I do feel that way at the present moment; and that is why [V] might be an ideal choice for me at this given point in time. But at some point in the future I anticipate that I shall start to feel more sure of myself, with a consequent diminishment in my need to identify with such an `elder sister'. The need then might be more a question of finding wider grounds for compatibility, and that is the area where I remain to be convinced that she might be the right choice for me.

[V] and I do not really think alike. It is probably true that her ideals are far more elevated than mine. I may be sensitive to the same ideals, but I think my approach to life may be more pragmatic. Within the degree of mutual understanding that we have developed, we can avoid quarrels by dropping subjects which might lead to an argument. But I do notice the points of potential discord, and the very fact that we are avoiding any discussion of them does in itself create barriers. Nor do I think there is much chance of these barriers being lowered within the near future.

During the entire week that I was sitting my Finals, [V] and I were refraining from having any sex. Even on the Sunday, which was the day of rest in the middle of the exams, we did nothing more than drive in leisurely fashion down to Longleat, so that I could show her the azaleas in full bloom in Loncombe Drive - then all the way back again to Oxford.

My last exam was on Tuesday - after which there was a sensation of anti-climax. And a general dissatisfaction with the way I had performed pitched me back into a depression. This was augmented by the fact that [V] too appeared down in the mouth, without seeming prepared to offer an explanation. The idea that [J] must finally have arrived was of course my instant thought, but I had no means of knowing if that was correct.

We went out to a film that evening. It was Martine Carole in `La Pensionnaire' - a tale about a nice girl who is unable to live down the reputation of her past. I know that we were both aware that the situation might conceivably (if unfairly) be offered as in parallel to [V]'s own life history. We didn't make any comment on the subject; but it's the restraint which is so damaging.

This last week hasn't been a particularly happy one. During Schools, [V] and I were refraining from any copulation. But I'd been hoping that this was just a pause within the sexual activity in our relationship - to get back into our stride just as soon as they had ended. But I think there is a deeper inhibition against such a resumption within [V]'s own line of thought. She seems to be back on that worry as to whether I want her for herself, or just for sex; and it somehow helps her to feel more at ease on that subject if the need for sex can be dismissed as umimportant - which isn't a healthy situation as far as I'm concerned. I mean it leaves me wanting sex, and worrying that I'm no longer going to get it, which would render the relationship thoroughly unsatisfactory over the long run, if it were to continue like that. It leaves unanswered whether, with patience, the former routine will be revived. But I have no means of knowing just how soon this will happen, or at what point I should conclude that the sex has ended - in which case I would indeed have to start thinking in terms of finding myself a different girlfriend.

Then I also find myself wondering if I should really be concluding that this change in attitude signifies that [J] must now be in Oxford. And God knows what that might entail. Or is he really coming back here at all? I'm not sure that [V] would see fit to mention it if there had been any change in his plans. But I can't help feeling most uncomfortable about the whole business. It's as if I was standing there in his shadow, at the point in time when I must go up for my Viva - to have my intellect graded as that much inferior to his own.

Naturally [V] must be aware of this imminent comparison between the two of us, and of course it must occur to her that she herself has sunk to a lower grade, as judged by others from the company which she keeps. There is no escape from this juxtaposition within her thoughts, and I am bound to fare badly from it.

It's difficult for me to perceive just how we can hope to make any progress from this point. The supposition that she might be seeing [J], and withholding herself from me for that reason, leaves me frigid towards her of my own accord. Or rather it leaves me uncertain on the issue of whether I want to get hotted up - an uncertainty which persists, even when there is evidence to the contrary. For example, [V] has now told me that [J] won't be coming to Oxford until next term. (It seems that I got the date of the All Souls exam confused.) But I somehow don't accept this as being necessarily true. I am too much prone to persecute myself with what amounts to a mere figment of my imagination - supposing infidelities where they don't exist. And once I do start to look to my imagination to construct the detail that is mostly absent from any factual account of what I know she has been doing, it just runs riot. There's always some detail that I can envisage to torture my mind. And while knowing that it's absurd, I cannot get myself to stop.

I might illustrate this point with a particular conversation from a few days back. [V] was sitting there, all thoughtful, in my room; and she suddenly asked me: "Do you think that one could ever grow to hate a girl because of something in her life?" Now the immediate thought in my mind was that she was about to reveal something awful in her past - that she'd once been a prostitute perhaps. For it's true that [V] did once tell me that, a few years back, she was offered a job as a nightclub hostess - a job that she didn't actually take, although she nearly did, because she was very short of money at the time; and she had been assured that there would be no necessity for her to do anything more than to entertain the customers while they were there in the dance hall. But as soon as she posed me this question, I was expecting the worst, and unwilling to cede the point that there was nothing to which she might confess, with a potential effect of greatly impairing my opinion of her. So I made a point of saying that there were of course some things that might make me hate her - if she had murdered someone, for example. She dropped her head, and murmured that she hadn't been meaning anything like that.

It could be that this was an example of [V] endeavouring to put her cards on the table, in getting us talking on the subject of her past. But if that were the case, it simply didn't succeed in bringing out into the open whatever does need discussion. And my own feeling is that the next move is really up to [V]. She ought to realize that she must be candid enough to reveal to me precisely what is going on in her life - the past, the present and the future aspirations. In fact I'm left wondering if she is capable of such candour.

Then again, I might query whether I might be sufficiently integrated as a person to handle such information, if it were given me. I do recognize how there are elements of instability in me, and if it turned out that this created a situation that I couldn't quite handle, then I might fall to pieces. (Misery? Suicidal thoughts? I know not what.) So if this were to be the result, then it could be that [V]'s restraint from any candour might be justified - on the argument that she's more worked out as an adult human being than myself, and thus capable of shouldering all the anxieties, without offering them to me as a subject over which I might fret.

But I feel disinclined to accept that line. Knowing the truth about any matter does at least furnish a concrete starting-point - perhaps the only workable starting-point - for constructing a relationship and then assisting it to evolve. If the truth is to be withheld from me, or if I am to suspect that this might be the case, there would be such uncertainty about everything. And that's no way to tackle life. Even a situation of finding that I couldn't cope with the truth would be preferable to one of not knowing where I stand.

If that is to be my line, there are still vast problems for me to overcome. There is this ill-defined potential for hating [V] that does lurk somewhere in the back of my mind. Or a resentment perhaps, in being made aware how she is never really going to belong to me, and to none other, in that part of her capacity for adoring anyone was already imparted to this person other than myself - so is irretrievably lost, as far as the rest of us are concerned. And this manner of feeling is liable to be triggered by knowing all there is to know about her love life, past and present. But she needs to reveal all this to me while continuing unabated in the development of our own love relationship, if we're to get anywhere at all. That's not going to be easy for her, I know, in that she interprets this as meaning that I just want her for sex - which leads her to making further withdrawal from me. This amounts to a vicious circle, which has us well and truly in its compass. But I don't see what else I might suggest. Or if we don't take that line, then it won't surprise me at all if we are approaching the end of the affair.

I suppose that if there were some wise man within my entourage, to whom I could turn for advice, he might tell me that the breaking of the vicious circle should come from myself. My resentment of [V]'s past love life is an example of my immaturity in these matters. So the emphasis should be upon the evolution of my own thoughts upon this kind of situation, until the resentment disappears. That would take time however - perhaps even years. And it might need that my own sexual experience should first have been expanded, to match (or exceed) that of the girls with whom I might fall in love. What now appears to my eyes like a blemish on the flesh of the loved one, might then look more like the natural wear and tear of the body - something which could also be discerned upon my own. And I have little doubt that I would then find it all too easy to fall head over heals in love with [V].

We are here talking about an evolution within my attitude, which may be realized in time future, but it does little to relieve the anxiety to which I am subjected here in time present. Nor can I see any measures which might serve to salvage something lasting, and of mutual benefit, from the relationship I have been having with [V]. There is an element of mutual distrust within the situation as it stands today; and this is liable to deteriorate still further, unless we can feel our way into the adoption of a more positive approach to one another.

To express the problem in different terms, where I might perceive an emergent solution would be in tackling the present - restoring the sexual element, and putting our trust into that, for merging our identities gradually, towards whatever possibilities for a future might then emerge. But [V] (I suspect) would prefer to settle what the future might hold for us, in a mutual acceptance of the marital potential for our relationship, before afflicting herself with any more of the slings and arrows of the outrageous present. She's had enough of my smouldering resentment here in time present.

Within my own head, I keep returning to the thought that I have never managed to communicate to [V] the full nature of this torment. I do perceive it as silly, and immature, but at the same time it's real. I find it impossible to discuss with her such matters openly, because I know just how much it would offend her.

I do need to be precise upon that issue. The thought in my head (whether apt or absurd) is that she ought never to have submitted to all those previous lovers. And it's another absurdity that I still don't know how many I'm talking about. She has put a name to two of them - [J] and [P]. But for all I know there could be a whole list of others - simply because she has never seen fit to tell me that there aren't. She keeps her communication on this subject to a minimum, which triggers all manner of accusations within my imagination. But the sum total of what I fear is that she's a tart, who set out to ensnare me; and an extensive past love life would be in keeping with that. Now I certainly don't think that of her, but I know how others do; and it's this fear that I might have been fooled into perceiving her differently, which lies very much at the root of my present quandary.

In default of being able to make any rapid progress within the evolution of my own attitude, I think my one hope is to get the torment in my thoughts down on paper, in a manner that I can let her read them. Keeping this journal does me a world of good, personally, but I don't write it in a form that I ever intend to show to others. The emphasis here, is that it all remains strictly private. If I supposed for a moment that others might be going to read it - in the near future that is to say - then the whole style and content would need to be transformed. But I've got to tackle this task of communicating these thoughts to [V], in the none-too-distant future. Until that has been done, I do not see how we can hope to make any progress at all within our relationship. But there is another problem too, in that I've got to say all this without hurting [V] - because quite simply she doesn't deserve to be hurt. Will that be possible, however? I mean, if I try to be nice in saying what I have to say, I might well emasculate the very content of the communication, which would destroy the whole purpose of it.

I do see this as my next task in life - after coming down from Oxford, that is to say - probably in Paris. I must write a novel where the central character gets inflicted with all these manner of doubts concerning the virtue of his girlfriend. I daresay it has all been done before, but there must be something which is strictly applicable to this day and age within the way I feel - something about the continuing influence of pre-war attitudes within a post-war world, which is still sorting out what it stands for. Be that as it may, my own purpose would be quite largely to thrust an understanding of this situation upon [V]'s attention. And it might be that I'll succeed in writing a good novel on the subject, into the bargain.

On Wednesday, Thursday and Friday, there were a whole series of occasions when we were playing around with one another in a quasi-sexual manner, but always just short of genuine copulation. And on each occasion that our activity fell short of what I was really wanting, I felt the resentment surging back into my thoughts. I suppose I was short-tempered with her; and [V] was becoming quite evidently depressed. But in any case she was making it evident that we are now in a different phase of the relationship, so the attempts at reconciliation never really came to anything.

Yesterday (Monday) I drove down to Cheddar, to attend a board meeting of the pottery works - all thoroughly boring, and not worth any specific comment. But on my return, I parked my TR2 in the backstreet south of the river, where I am now in the habit of leaving my car, and was making my way back to Folly Bridge when I saw [Y]'s head protruding from Francis N's window. I walked on, pretending that I hadn't seen her. And it's notable that she hasn't come to see me in my room since then. But she did spend the night in Francis' room - alone with him, as far as I can make out. And she still appears to be here, although I know not for how long.

There is a problem in that I do now feel so resentful against [Y] - just for the way she has played around so callously with my affections in the past. I certainly don't want to become involved with her again, although at the same time I appreciate how this might well happen. And if she is going to have an affair with Francis, then I wish she could find somewhere other than the room next door to mine as the trysting place.

Oh yes, I'm quite aware how this is a most unreasonable demand, inasmuch that it is his room, for whatever purpose he might choose. So it is a resentment really, against the hand of fate - except that it wasn't really fate at all which arranged things this way. In fact there's quite a strong case for supposing that [Y] may have planned it from the start, by suggesting to Francis that he ought to ask me if there might be rooms at Folly Bridge for himself and his friend Christopher. In any case, if [Y] had any sensitivity on this issue, then I feel that she would be organizing her life differently. She certainly merits my resentment on that score. And I'd relish some opportunity to be rude to her, which I don't really suppose is going to come my way. Or even if I did get one, her hide is too thick for my words to get through to her. I'm in a position where I simply don't stand to win.

In the light of my current dislike for [Y], it is quite some paradox that her visit to Folly Bridge on this occasion, should give rise to a serious rift between myself and [V], who came round to see me on Monday evening. Perhaps it was a mistake for me to tell her that [Y] was in the house, or at least I should have managed to sound cheerful when doing so. But the glumness in my expression was quickly noted, and had the effect of plunging herself into a depression of equal depth. It eventually led to a discussion in which she was asserting that all I really wanted was [Y] - she is apt to refer to her as "your [Y]" - and that it showed in everything I did, or stated. Then she got up and said she was leaving. So I asked her if this meant that she wasn't going to see me again. [V] took the line that she too had her pride, and that if I wanted to see her again, then it would be up to me to come and visit her, rather than it being this way round.

I shall of course be going round to see her - once [Y] has departed from Folly Bridge. And I'm still hoping to revive our relationship in full sexual ardour. But this will be a matter for future resolution. And if in the final outcome, I find that I have lost her, then I know that I shall regret it deeply. [V] was hinting as much in one of our prior conversations, when she'd been in a reconciliatory mood. Nor was it just a boastful vaunt. She is clear-sighted in perceiving the value of her potential companionship, and I can see it too. But that does nothing to distract me from the fact that we do seem to be approaching the end of the road.

Another of her comments was that it's a pity we didn't first meet in about eight years time. I think that marks her estimate of the time it will take me to mature. And I can see that she does have a point in saying that. For after that period of time, which might be given over to reflection upon time past (as we might well imagine,) it would not surprise me in the least if I were hoping to furnish myself with a girl just like [V]. But [V] herself will no doubt be married by then. Not that I am likely to heed this warning. The present must take care of itself, and I fear to say that within this context, we are ill-matched.

I had a wretched time on Tuesday afternoon, on a vain quest to find [V]. I found a note in her room to say `In the Library', but there was no sign of her there. Altogether I made five trips to her room, and five to the Library. It did occur to me that she must be hiding herself in one of the other libraries, although there were so many possibilities that I didn't know where to begin. I somehow suspected that she was quite deliberately being elusive. But I did eventually manage to discover her bag in the New Bodleian, and wrote her a note which I placed under it - only to find (on my fifth visit) that she had taken the note, without leaving any message in return.

Then on driving to a cinema, I spotted [V] on her bicycle, peddling down Broad Street as fast as she could. I drew up level with her, feeling just a trifle peeved at the way I had already wasted an entire afternoon chasing round Oxford after her. So I enquired tersely if she'd like to come to the film with me. She seemed friendly all right, but excused herself on the grounds of having to go and see someone. Then on perceiving that I was looking grim, she added that she could come to Folly Bridge after the film had ended, which encouraged me greatly.

When she came, I wasn't disappointed. In fact we were fully reconciled - including the love-making. She claimed that she had only been hiding herself away in small libraries, so as to furnish me with the excuse not to search any further for her - just in case that might have been my preference. But in any case she had always been intending to come and see me in the evening - having given [Y] all the time she might require to disappear from the scene. And for the first time since Schools, I really got the feeling that she was eager to fuck me.

After she had gone back to her hostel, I went to bed in a thoroughly contented frame of mine. I imagined that [Y] was now back in London, since I hadn't picked up the sound of her voice since lunch-time. But this illusion was suddenly dispelled. I heard those drawling tones around midnight, when she must have been returning to Folly Bridge with a whole party of other people. They were all seated in Francis' room, drinking until about three in the morning. And it sounded as if they were all pissed.

There was one moment when someone from the family downstairs had come up to the bathroom, and [Y] was trying the door handle. Then I heard her sneering: "Lord Weymouth appears to have locked himself in the loo!" And there were others laughing at this jibe. I resented it deeply - the idea that she comes intruding into the house where I am living, and then starts sneering through the bathroom door, when she supposes (however mistakenly) that I am inside. It got the adrenalin surging through my veins, and I got very little sleep over the remainder of the night.

I also developed a feeling of loathing for [Y], for the way she is prepared to taunt a former lover. She cannot be a nice person to act like that. I wanted to hit back at her, but I felt so powerless to that end. All I could do next morning, was to leave a note for Francis, in which I said that I had no means of knowing if [Y] would be staying with him until Thursday, but that I hoped she realized that she wasn't invited to my party, and it would save much trouble and embarrassment if he could persuade her not to come to it. I know not whether Francis showed her the note, but I certainly hope so.

There was real spleen in my heart, and I gave vent to this in a poem which I have now written to [Y]'s memory - a kind of epitaph, entitled `In Hate.' It is a poem that I was first sketching out (in slightly different form) over the course of that weekend I spent at Hever Castle, when I was also feeling distinctly peeved with [Y]. But the intensity with which I am now hating her is flowing more readily into my pen. So here is the poem, for what it's worth.

Give heed as this my prayer
comes stinging through the air,
in search of any power
who designates us hate,
beseeching for a shower
of thoughts which desecrate.

Persuade me to despise
by telling to me lies;
adorn me with a sneer -
set acid on my tongue;
when smiling, I must sneer
from looks Leviathan.

If songs to me are sung,
my ears shall feel as stung;
the fairest in the land
shall vanish overnight;
repugnant she must stand
within my twisted sight.

The amour in my eyes
in hate shall crystalize;
but let it be before
the battle has begun,
for love is but a war,
and wars are to be won!

I did not tell [V] that [Y] had stayed on at Folly Bridge for the night. There seemed little point in doing so, now that she had definitely departed. I was feeling quite happy again once I had completed this poem. And I think I can now dismiss her quite easily from my thoughts.

[V] told me that she didn't know what she was going to wear for my party, so we went out on a shopping expedition. I bought her a green skirt and a jazzy pink blouse - which I think were admired in the event. This is the first occasion that I have been subjected to the tedium of accompanying any girl on a clothes shopping spree, and I was amazed at how long it took. But I suppose I should regard this as a foretaste of what lies in store for me on many a future occasion.

On Thursday I received a note from someone called [Q] (of Christ Church), asking me if I'd like to have lunch with him. I hadn't the faintest idea whom he might be, but the thought in my mind was that this might be [V]'s mysterious admirer - the one she went to visit in his rooms at Christ Church a little while back. So I decided to accept.

In the event it turned out that he had nothing to do with [V] whatsoever. He was very quiet - almost mouse-like, and I never did manage to work out precisely what his motivation might have been for inviting me to lunch. All he revealed was that I was one of the people that he'd always been hoping to meet, and that he usually did succeed in getting what he wanted in such matters. To tell the truth I felt flattered - as if he has singled me out as one of the achievers within this generation of Christ Church undergraduates. He knew that I was a painter for example, and he was most interested to hear about the kind of novels which I am intending to write.

When I came to discuss the matter afterwards with [V], I told her how I'd felt flattered by his interest in me, suggesting that he must have heard something about my work. But she just laughed at this, making out that I was being absurd, saying: "Do you mean that he'd heard you were a good-looking young aristocrat?" Her inference was that [Q] was just seeking out my company for homosexual reasons - that, or because he's a snob. And of course, she may be right!

But I feel reluctant to cede that this is so. And her viewpoint is far from complimentary, when I come to think about it. I mean she just doesn't see me as the kind of person who might be sufficiently charismatic for other undergraduates to want to meet. She would regard the matter differently, I feel sure, if she'd heard that someone wanted to meet [J]! But when I suggest there could be a similar curiosity towards myself, she sees it as evidence for my paranoia. I'm afraid that [V] does not respect my intellect. On the other hand, why should she? Or then again, it could be that I'm just displaying an insensitivity to her humour. But the net result is that it left me feeling despondent, after she had departed.

It could be that this is a more serious problem than I have indicated - the idea that [V] (privately) regards me as being of lower intelligence than herself. She may be right, or she may be wrong; but the point is that if she really does regard me in that light, then I don't think it's healthy that I should continue in her company at this given point in time. I am so vulnerable on that whole issue of intellect, that I cannot afford to maintain the company of anyone who might be looking down on me - even if this were a girl whose influence on me might be healthy in many another way. Cohabitation requires mutual respect in every detail, and I regard it as essential that I find someone who really can believe in me, within the image that I aspire to attain for myself.

I am inclining to the view that I must break with [V] as soon as I move to Paris - not necessarily for ever, but I should first write that novel about `The Lost Ideal', giving vent to all the tortured anxiety within my mind on the subject of this disparity within our sexual experience. I must bring it clearly into focus why I should feel this way, and where I suppose the solutions might lie. I'm hoping that I have lived through the material for such a novel, so that it will in part be a therapy for me to be writing about it. But if I can shape this material into good literary form, then it will serve the dual purpose of establishing me with some status as a novelist, (which might be regarded as an essential prerequisite to the acquisition of a healthy self-esteem,) and it will also open [V]'s eyes to the nature of the problems in our relationship. Only after this has happened can I hope to make any further progress with [V]. And in recognition of my achievement as a novelist, she will then have reason to respect me as well.

Perhaps I should spur myself forwards on that issue. Perhaps I shouldn't wait until I go to Paris before I start writing my novel. I know enough about what I should say in it to have a crack at the task straight away - now that I have completed my Schools, that is to say. Or I should get to work as soon as I've sat my Viva. There can be no peace of mind for me until I've written it.

I am already toying with the plot. I still think that the best title for it might be `The Lost Ideal', and it should be set in Paris - availing myself of my presence in that city, to introduce all manner of atmospheric detail. And there might be some purpose in me furnishing, here and now, a synopsis of the material within each of the projected chapters.

There was a complication at my leaving party, in that [Q] had come down from London for it. I couldn't very well neglect to invite her, but it was awkward having the two girlfriends present at the same party. [Q] had in fact written to ask if she could sleep at Folly Bridge, but I had urged her to find somewhere else. She did that, but still asked me to collect her from some lodgings and take her along to the party in my car. Well that wasn't convenient either, in that I was taking [V]. But it was [V] herself who suggested that we could manage to fit her into the space just behind the front seats.

I was curious to see how the two of them might handle the actual presence of the other, and it didn't seem as if much emotion was involved. [V] had the upper hand of course, and chose to keep her distance - polite, but hardly warm. [Q] was more uncertain of herself all round, in that she doesn't quite know what she ought to make of [V] - having heard all manner of reports about her, as I imagine.

At the party itself, it was [V] who had my attention - along with quite a few other of my friends, to be strictly accurate. I think on the whole that [V] was enjoying herself greatly. But the mood was slightly spoilt with a bit of a row while I was driving her back to her hostel. (She had to check in by midnight.) I think she was feeling that I hadn't been paying as much attention to her as I ought, and [V] has a way of looking for quarrels when she's feeling disgruntled. When she's in that kind of mood, I just resort to a frigid silence until the hostility has passed. So it didn't really amount to anything.

Sometimes I don't quite know for sure what to make of her remarks. For example, while we were still at the party, she said that it would be all right if I took [Q] back to Folly Bridge with me. I mean, I wasn't sure if she was suggesting that I actually sleep with her. And what was I to make of it, if that was indeed what she'd meant? Was she thinking that it's time to dump me? - in which case it might indeed be useful to pitch me back into the arms of my previous girlfriend. But I really don't think it was like that. I think she was just trying to say that she could tolerate it if I did decide to sleep with [Q] - for old times sake. I felt it safest however, to assure her that I had no such intention.

Since I was the host, I did have to go back to the party after I'd dropped [V] at her hostel. And it did then become awkward in that [Q] was expecting me to pay much more attention to her, to compensate for the absence of it beforehand. And she was still expecting me to take her back to Folly Bridge with me. So I made a point of getting Richard Bingham to give her a lift home, although he did this most reluctantly, claiming that his car was already full. In fact I believe that [Q] eventually had to slip in beside a suitcase in the boot!

Next morning Friday, [V] came down to Folly Bridge in a nice mood once again, so the quarrel was quickly repaired. In fact we spent the whole afternoon lying in bed together, and making love. Then on Saturday she had to go off to London - to stay with her sister, as she claimed. I hope this was the real reason. I feel sure that it was.

Kate W and Sally M were giving a small drinks party on Saturday evening. I had in fact approached Sally a few days previously to ask her if I could bring "the love of my life" with me. Sally had hesitated a moment before saying: "Well all right - if she really is the love of your life." This made it abundantly clear that she would not be especially welcome, so it may have been fortunate that [V] then took off to see her sister in Wimbledon. But it's curious how those two display little inclination to like one another. [V] has commented that Sally has the reputation of being a terrible snob, and it looks as if Sally regards [V] as a would-be title-snatcher. But I've never seen them converse in any way at all.

A point of interest from the party is that [Z] was present, and that she came up to chat with me in friendly spirit. It is perhaps churlish that I bear any resentment in my heart against her, because she always seems to be making this manner of effort when we meet. But then, I'm the offended party - or that's the way I regard it. Still, she is entertaining company, when she is in a mood to be pleasant.

I sat around my room the whole of Monday, waiting for [V] to return. After lunch, I just gave up and went out to buy some classical records. When I got back to my room however, I found a note in my room to say that she had returned. Then on going round to her room, I found that she was thoroughly exhausted from her weekend in London. I had been hoping that I might persuade her to come along to the Magdalen Commem Ball with me, but she made it perfectly plain to me that all she really wanted to do was sleep.

There was one point which did hurt my feelings just a trifle, and leaves me uncertain how to interpret what is going on. When [V] first told me that she was going up to London to see her sister, I had vaguely suggested that I could come up to London as well, so that we could go to a nightclub on the Saturday night. But it was clear to me that [V] didn't really want me to come up - making excuses, and eventually saying that she would be going to a dinner for the Voltaire Society.

I should add parenthetically, at this point, that [V]'s membership of the Voltaire Society does somehow pinpoint an area where the doors of the most intellectual company are wide open to her membership, and still very much closed to my own. [W] has talked to me about attending the Voltaire Society, while falling short of inviting me to attend it as his guest - wisely enough, in that I'd have almost certainly have embarrassed him, just as I did up in London, when I failed to match up to the intellectualism of that discussion group. But I have been noting how [V] too has always refrained from taking me along to any of the meetings of this group. She somehow senses that I wouldn't fit. (I have little doubt that [J] was a member.)

Anyway, when I saw her again, lying there resting in her hostel at 5 Bevington Road, she told me how she was completely exhausted after having spent two very late nights with friends. She has added to this information since by saying that these nights out were not previously planned. But there would seem to be a discrepancy on this point. I mean, was she misleading me when she was discouraging me from coming up to London, by saying that she had a definite engagement, when perhaps she didn't? I suppose it could be that the late night festivities arose from her meeting up with old friends at the Voltaire Society dinner. But the fact of her not furnishing any details concerning the identity of her companions does suggest to me that she might not want me to hear their names. So I find myself susceptible to a certain unease. She avoids telling me very much about her past, and it would seem that she is equally reluctant to inform me about current events. So how can I possibly know where I really stand?

I had an uncomfortable feeling that [V] might be two-timing me in some fashion - just from her restraint in furnishing me with adequate information for me to make an adequate assessment of the situation. Consequently I was somewhat short with her, and it could be that when I left her, she was feeling a little anxious about our relationship. But I was disgruntled in that my hopes for an enjoyable evening had been turned upside-down, for I had no wish to go along to the Magdalen Commem Ball on my own.

Once I was back at Folly Bridge, I found myself fretting on this point. The sight of her lying there in her bed, saying that she was exhausted, might well have been a sham - concealing the fact that she had some alternative engagement in mind. Perhaps she was even going to the Magdalen Ball, but with someone else. But would she ever consider doing such a thing to me?

Well I say this in evidence for the fact that [V] knows very well that she can rely upon me not to make a fuss if she wants to accept an invitation from someone else. But I ask myself if the same dictum would hold true if the invitation came from the likes of [J] - or from the person that I have to refer to as `the unknown admirer', in the absence of being able to give him a name. I simply don't know. I even have an uncomfortable suspicion that she'd say nothing about it whatsoever. So what am I to suppose of this particular evening?

Both [Y] and [F] were up in Oxford for the Magdalen Commem Ball, staying overnight in Francis' room. I ran into [Y] on several occasions, but just ignored her presence. But it was clear to me on this occasion that she wasn't deliberately flaunting her presence before me, in the company of her admirers. I might even say that she appeared demure.

Another point is that, after both Francis and [F] had departed for London on the Tuesday morning, it was notable how [Y] herself was staying on at Folly Bridge for one whole day, all on her own. It even occurred to me that she might be staying on here in the hope of achieving a reconciliation with myself. But if such were the case, then it really would entail a vast shift in her attitude towards me - waiting around in the room next door, just in the hopes that I might speak to her. It seems so out of character that it's almost risible. And it would be mistimed too, in that I have no inclination currently to repair my relationship with her. And it did turn out that there was a more social reason for the prolongation of her visit in that she had other parties to attend. But it does warm my heart towards her that (just possibly) she was making an appropriate effort.

There was much talk around my friends at Oxford over the next few days about some crisis at the Magdalen Commem Ball, involving both [Y] and Aldred Drummond. It may well be that [Y] had gone to it as Aldred's partner. But there are a variety of reports of how Aldred freaked out in some way during the early hours of the morning. I'm told that he was found wandering round the college,only partially dressed, in a state little short of nervous breakdown. Of course I'm curious to know what may have transpired to trigger such an emotional state and, with my knowledge of [Y] and how she leads people on (before pulling the rug from under their feet,) I have little difficulty in filling in some picture of their scene. But it's pointless for me to speculate on such matters.

On Tuesday (and perhaps to make amends) [V] announced that she would like to accompany me to the New College Commem Ball. It was a reasonable success. We started the evening by going along for a drink with Oliver F-P, and then set off for Henley, where Antony Shiel and Giles Fitzherbert were holding a small party. But it began to look at the start as if the evening might end badly for us, in that we were quarrelling just slightly even before we arrived there.

This arose because [V] asked me if I would let her have my Dave Bruebeck record, which I'd just bought to add to my own collection - and this was something that I told her. But it led to accusations of stinginess, and this nettled me. In fact it's a point that she has touched on before, and I think she does it deliberately - to goad me - because she knows how I am sensitive on the issue. (People who have had a quantity of money showered into their laps, after a frugal upbringing, are apt to be stingy in that the rules of when to spend, and when to conserve their fortune, are all matters which require to be worked out before they can feel well-adjusted to such a lifestyle.) But I was feeling it inappropriate for her to be taking this line with me in that I had just recently bought her a whole set of clothes, to wear at my leaving party. When I mentioned this however, she snapped that I could take them all back for all she cared - which wasn't very nice of her.

We were still bickering when we arrived at the drinks, and the situation was then complicated still further by the sight of [Y] within the assembled company. And I've already experienced how [V] gets upset when I get upset over the presence of the other one. So I could think of no better solution than that we should depart at once, which we did. But on the way to dinner, the quarrelling broke out afresh, and this time it became quite bitter. So I said I'd drive her back home, and would have done so if she hadn't switched moods, even apologizing for having goaded me. So we then went ahead with the dinner (at `Chez Peter's') as planned. And surprisingly it turned out to be quite a success - after we'd joined up with Tim R and Jenny B. The atmosphere was good all round.

The Commem Ball was also a success, although by the end of it I was feeling totally exhausted. I then had the problem of [V] wanting to stay longer at it. But she did eventually agree to come back home to Folly Bridge with me, where we spent a pleasant night in each others' arms.

On Friday I ran into [V] in the street, and she appeared in a worried state. She told me that she would have to sell her watch in order to pay off her overdraft of £28. I stopped her from doing this by writing her out a cheque for that amount. For it was coming home to me that I am perhaps inclined to be stingy with my girlfriends - a thought which she may have been prompting with some deliberation on that previous evening. But it was none the less true for all that.

Perhaps I should bring my thoughts to bear still further on this subject, in that the issues should indeed be resolved. With a relationship such as we have already developed, I should perhaps be far more ready than I have yet displayed myself, to furnish for [V] what might be described as quasi-marital protection. I mean, I have virtually been suggesting to her that she live with me, after coming down from Oxford, in something approximating to the state of marriage. So I shoul