Ari drops out too, shortly after sending me a postcard that says, among other things, ‘I hate bleeding students’. Despite having no real reason to go down to Southampton, I do anyway. The World Cup is on, and at the tall unflappable public schoolboy’s semi-derelict terrace house I watch Scotland fail magnificently, He keeps looking at me as if he is just about to ask what I am doing there, but never does. The outside toilet has half a wall missing and I sit and gaze up at the stars. It’s the only time during the visit that I relax.