Friday, 2th September, 1920
I arrived by train to Portsmouth. On the train I meet three nice gentlemen; the chief editor of the Portsmouth newspaper Carl Anderson, private detective Frank Cast and the photographer Victor Ramski who also seems to be somekind of working class activist.
Carl struck me as a very nervous and jittery man and he was acting quite suspiciously. I suspect he might be acting out some unconcious urge to attract attention.
Frank seems like a blunt and hardened fellow. He was also very suspicious of Carl and suspected him of being up to no good. He seemed to expect that Carl would blow up the train. So slight tendencies of paranoia there, but I suppose that is what the job of being a private detective entails. The cynisism of his character hints at some serious disappointments in his past.
Victor's appearance is that of an idealist. He talked about the situation that has ensued the workers' revolution in Russia and how he hoped for the same kind of liberation for american workers, but quite frankly I found it so tedious I must've drifted off into other thoughts as I simply can't recall much of it.
I took the opportunity however to invite them all over to dinner in my new home, since I sadly have yet to make any friends in this town.
Waiting for me at the station was a Mr. Jones, my driver with my new car. Apparently he was also the driver for the previous owner of my house, who as I understand it was quite the exentric. Sadly though, he recently passed away. My impression of Jones is that he is quite the capable individual. I'm sure he will come to good use.
I had Jones drive me past the hospital before I arrived at my new home on 13th Rose Street.
All things seem in order. Most fascinating is the library, though it needs some sorting of the volumes.
Mental note: Hire a housekeeper.
Carl struck me as a very nervous and jittery man and he was acting quite suspiciously. I suspect he might be acting out some unconcious urge to attract attention.
Frank seems like a blunt and hardened fellow. He was also very suspicious of Carl and suspected him of being up to no good. He seemed to expect that Carl would blow up the train. So slight tendencies of paranoia there, but I suppose that is what the job of being a private detective entails. The cynisism of his character hints at some serious disappointments in his past.
Victor's appearance is that of an idealist. He talked about the situation that has ensued the workers' revolution in Russia and how he hoped for the same kind of liberation for american workers, but quite frankly I found it so tedious I must've drifted off into other thoughts as I simply can't recall much of it.
I took the opportunity however to invite them all over to dinner in my new home, since I sadly have yet to make any friends in this town.
Waiting for me at the station was a Mr. Jones, my driver with my new car. Apparently he was also the driver for the previous owner of my house, who as I understand it was quite the exentric. Sadly though, he recently passed away. My impression of Jones is that he is quite the capable individual. I'm sure he will come to good use.
I had Jones drive me past the hospital before I arrived at my new home on 13th Rose Street.
All things seem in order. Most fascinating is the library, though it needs some sorting of the volumes.
Mental note: Hire a housekeeper.
posted by Crona at 6:18 AM
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