Thursday December 18th

I was really late getting up yet again – eight o’clock approximately and I was in school just as the bell went. Long period of silence sat in the registration room and then later in the common room with Deborah, Jeremy, Tommy, Richard, Duncan etc.. I don’t know – the superficiality of our exchanges is so inevitable. As soon as Claire or Deborah appear (at break and dinnertimes for instance), they almost close themselves off, indulging in their little intimacies about Tony, Michael and their extra-school activities – How can I put it?! With those two, things seem much more involved and person-to-person. This is jealousy I suppose.

Anyway, I talked a bit about this Bulgaria holiday – they’re going on Saturday morning. One thing Deborah told us about which is so typical – all the girls going on the trip had a little prep’ talk (about “personal” matters presumably) and as Deborah was the only 16 year old, she was kept behind by the teacher who said “I don’t know if you’re on the Pill, but if you are will you remember to take them.” Deborah said she was quite upset about it, and shocked. ‘They’ seem to expect promiscuity of youth nowadays – we really are underestimated.

An air of bored resignation presided over things today, with long periods of silence. We couldn’t find anything to talk about. English with Ms Hirst was cancelled for some unexplained reason but first we had Slicer, who was a real cow: short-tempered, bitchy and irritable. Deborah went to Social Work at half one and we were joined by Lee, Claire and Michelle. Duncan held the attentions of many with his egocentric tales of sadism.

At school generally was an air of depression; of things winding down all around – I don’t like the atmosphere. On my way to registration, Ingham told me that my Marxism test essay was good and showed a “lot of promise” – I was pretty pleased. I also told Newsholme in registration that my decision to drop Biology was confirmed. She made me confident by saying that in her opinion I’d made the right decision.

After unproductive and enjoyable Art I got home at six-thirty, and spent another light-hearted evening in front of the box with Andrew. A note of impending doom – Mum nagged me about the radio again and said that I’d better bring it back tomorrow, “because you know how funny Robert gets, and I don’t want Christmas spoilt.” He’ll kill me.

By the way, yesterday I discovered (through Claire) that Robin Quinn and Elaine Buckley are to be head boy and head girl respectively. Robin Quinn! An original choice, if nothing else.