Friday, July 25, 1980

Friday July 25th

I went to Grant Riley’s today, on one of my regular visits. First though, I watched cricket. England started at 235-3 and got to 269 before Boycott was run out for 53. At 303 Gatting went for 48 (b. Croft).

I spent the morning in and out of the garden. The sun was shining down from a clear blue sky and I wandered around the flowerbeds, enthusiastically identifying insects. I identified a drone fly and a species of hoverfly (Syrphus ribesii). I could get keen on entomology. At about 1245 Dad got the car out and we set off. He dropped me at Lodgehill (Lyndale) and then went on to work, while I wended my slow way up to G.R’s at 44 Fearnfield Dr.

Grant Riley is one of the few real ‘close’ friends I’ve got (in fact the only one), because he is the only person who I am capable of speaking truthfully or deeply about some subject concerning my character. With Quinn for instance, it is different. He operates on a different level to me – he rarely reads books.

Grant is very much an art-type person – he is a great believer in individuality (or so he tells me) and apparently hangs out with a weird bunch of ‘outcasts’ at Hanson. He likes new wave type music, writes poetry and is generally a pretty mixed up person. Whenever I go see him I operate differently to ‘normal,’ everyday life – perhaps I live a sham, I don’t know. But as if to try create an image I deliberately put on my threadbare faded grey cords and put on my decrepit Nomad. It was as if I were acting almost.

When I got to No 44, Grant R’s mother and sister Amanda were sat out in the sun at the front of the house. I met G.R. himself in the hall – he was dressed pretty predictably – black cords, extremely arty slippers, and a starvation-emphasizing blue jumper with a P.I.L. badge on (!).

We went into the dining room where we stayed until their dinner was ready. I had had mine so I went into the other room to watch Gatting go. After dinner we almost immediately went out. For no particular reason we decided to go to Hainsworth Hall (to look round). We wandered round there awhile, before leaving the park and going to Duncan Verity’s for no other reason except to annoy, and then back up through Lodgehill, Castlebrigg and adjacent playing fields to sit talking at the top of Glenbank Lane. Here the heat was stifling – like an oven without any wind and plenty of haze. We then went to Ashburn, where I bought a can of orange, and then back to his house.

All the while we talked – about trends, politics, girlfriends, sex, music – in fact anything (I’ve suddenly realised that I seem to be making more out of this than is necessary. All it is is a visit to a friend yet I spiel on, as if the event is of the most important significance – I suppose this is because he is one of my only close mates, and my days recently have been boring).

Tea was very informal – we had sandwiches and strawberries and cream – and then we went out to see if Craig Hewitson was in. He used to go to Lodgehill Middle School and he is a great friend of Grant’s. I questioned Grant a lot on how all the Lodgehill Mid. people were going on – what they looked etc. I wonder what they’d think of me now or if they ever do remember me. Apparently Fiona McCaffrey is quite good looking now too. Unfortunately Craig was out so we wandered through the woods eventually ending up at the large open field below the allotments. Resting on the bank there I was surrounded by flies attracted by my sweat – the heat was oppressive and suffocating, like a cloak.

We then sauntered back to slump awhile in his bedroom in the heat, feeling bored. At eight I went, saying goodbye to Grant for another few months or so, probably.

On the way back (I walked through the woods to the main road and on over to Glenbank) it was sticky in the heat. I surprised a couple kissing on a grass bank nr. Yew Lane (I surprised myself more) and I felt quite uneasy after.

I then watched television all evening. (Andrew got me a cleaning arm for my birthday).

No comments:

Google Analytics Alternative