Monday, January 19, 1981

Monday January 19th

The thing my weekend builds up to finally came around again – Monday. I really don’t have any life outside of school – and it’s all my own fault.

We had an assembly as normal in the Sports Hall, Barkston’s reading consisting of one about Gladys Diaz, a revolutionary. He used this illustration to emphasise faith. We all went up to the sixth year library and I sat opposite Claire – it was quite pleasant, noone working, everyone talking. After the Geographers had gone, Duncan and Jeremy and I had an argument about the Government – Duncan’s a right wing, Daily Express poodle, whereas Jeremy is half-hearted socialist. I don’t know about me – I don’t really know my own thoughts about this. I feel that I’m socialist, but as far as the arguments behind that are concerned I’m still not completely informed. I cannot yet argue fluently or convincingly on this score.

In History we plunged headlong into economics and Russian war communism and the N.E.P. This part of the course is pretty complicated and detailed and is therefore quite difficult. After dinner, in the lesson, Claire told me another little snippet of gossip – this Tony Megson sounds a really immature person – apparently, as Claire told Deborah about his libelous remarks saying that he and Deborah slept together and that she was on the Pill, he’s going to get back at Claire by saying that she’s pregnant etc.,. What a moron.

Anyway, last lesson, I got back my essay from Hirst, who was taking a third year class in the library. She seemed a bit disappointed (I got a ‘C’) and asked me why I wasn’t finding it easy. I replied therefore that the book “Persuasion” was (to me anyway) a boring book, complex, petty and old-fashioned. I said that I much preferred modern books. Andy Briscoe was in for much of the second half of the last lesson, blatantly chatting up Claire and annoying me (unintentionally I’m sure).

I went home at 3.25 p.m. after messing around in the common room with Wood.

Another unproductive, reflective evening, watching television or doodling on paper – at this moment I’m half watching a Pamorama programme on the rise of the Labour left; it is eight-forty p.m., and I’m too warm and bored.

Today will go down in history books as the day the US hostages freedom was clinched; they are now waiting at Teheran airport to fly to Weisbaden US hospital via Algeria. I’m glad they’re free, although I’m also glad that Iranian money has been given back.

Today I have become aware of the main reason for the different circles of friends Claire keeps mentioning – it is a difference in maturity. At school, we are so much like the ‘old’ situation; whereas Megson and co; with their employed, nineteen year old mates, who drive and smoke etc., must be much more attractive.

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