Saturday July 26th

My cousin Susan got married at Kerforth Church this afternoon and I attended. I had to get smartened up for the occasion (I actually wore a tie). Both Andrew and Dad were wearing suits and Mum was dolled up to the eyeballs, so we must have looked quite a weird bunch in the car when we set off at 1215.

The wedding was scheduled for 1 p.m., and we parked at the other side of the roundabout to the Church. There were four weddings that day, so we all congregated in little groups outside the Church, waiting in the background until the previous wedding had been swept away. It was like a conveyor belt of happiest days.

The ceremony was as expected – “Praise be to the Lord . . . . . . .” – “Do you take this man to be . . . . . . . ,” although there were fewer guests than I expected.

Susan Rose Martindale is now Mrs Peter Andrew Kelly. After the wedding I noticed one person (the best word to use in the circumstances) who really fascinated me. He was obviously a total queer. He was dressed in a complete leather outfit – tight fitting leather trousers, jacket which he kept open to show off his unmanly chest – and had an incredibly feminine face and the most cliché’d homo’s voice ever. I just couldn’t stand him (and with a name like Chris Peacock who could!).

The fifty or so guests gradually filtered off to the reception which was held at the “Kilnfield” Hotel in Nunstead. This was a real disco, boozing, eating occasion till 5.30 – not really my thing. Ms Peacock was very much in evidence, doing dances on his own in the middle of the floor to Donna Summer’s “MacArthur Park.” What a git repulsive person he is. P.A. Kelly’s three sisters and young brother were sat about two tables away from me in the corner. I kept looking at his youngest sister – she looked about 15 – and she cast frequent glances at me – no real acknowledgement just a blank look at me. I start feeling sorry for myself in situations like that and after. I start wishing that I had a good thing going with a girl – any girl – one who understood me. Why can’t somebody I really like suddenly hit it off with me – I’m 16 now and I’ve still yet to have a girl-friend. I must seem a real creep to girls in those sort of circumstances.

Afterwards, an informal chat/booze session was held at Uncle Arnolds during which I again became aware of Miss Kelly. By the time we left I had had enough, my head was throbbing from the music, the pint-and-a-half I had downed and the alcoholic atmosphere (enough also of Peacock’s inuendos). Andrew stayed at the revelry but I was glad to get away. I was looking forward to seeing the highlights of the evenings 800 metre event in which Ovett thrashed Coe.

During the evening, whiling away the time to Olympic highlights at eleven, I looked at several books on natural history. The fires of enthusiasm have suddenly become rekindled, especially for entomology (during the reception I nicked some brown sugar with which to mix with rum and black treacle (to make a moth attractant when smeared on a tree trunk).

Today Britain won 5 medals at the Olympics (2 gold, 2 silver and a bronze) and the test was rained off. The weather was abysmal.