Thursday 22nd September 1999
Dear Diary,
Here I am. My new home. The room is a decent size and pleasant enough, but I find it eerie that it's full of my things. It's as though I've stepped through some kind of portal and into a parallel universe. This is more than a holiday, more than a visit. This is me moving out. There's a side of me that rejoices in this new level of independence, and there's a part of that side that sees it as an excuse to stop eating. What Mother can't see won't hurt her after all. But I know I can't, I mustn't, I shouldn't. The trouble is I so easily could.
As I was carrying my suitcase and bags up to my room earlier, I met a boy in the hallway. He had longish, straight blond hair, a long face and wore tight leather trousers and a baggy denim jacket over a tight T-Shirt. There was a cigarette hanging limply out of his mouth. He talked slowly and without much emotion.
"Alright?" he said as I passed him. "I'm Toby."
"Sherlock"
"Nice gaff this." he said, looking around him.
I smiled inwardly. I wonder if anyone has ever referred to this historical college as a "gaff" before.
"Quite nice, yes"
I made to continue my journey, but he cut in
" 'Ere, where you from? Sound like a Londoner to me, but a bit 'igher up the old social ladder. S'pose I best get used to rubbin' shoulders with the elite. My mum weren't 'alf proud when I got in 'ere. First of me family to even do A levels and 'ere I am in Oxford. They say I'm a Maths genius."
Toby the Maths genius intrigues me. I've never met anyone quite like him before. He seemed completely at ease in these new, unfamiliar surroundings, talking to an unfamiliar person. I wish I could be more like him.
Sherlock Holmes
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