Identical to yesterday. In the evening, I completed my third season for divisions one and two and Uncle Kenneth came. It is Dad’s birthday today, his fifty-first. Uncle Kenneth became his usual alcoholic self, and didn’t stay long. On his way back, he gave Andrew a lift to a party at Geoff Marchbank’s.
As midnight approached, we were all given the perfunctory glass of sherry and we held a toast to 1981 and to “peace” as Big-Ben chimed away 1980. Shortly after, Mum and Dad went to bed leaving me watching the “Old Grey Whistle Test” pick of ’80. Andrew returned at 0110 – I could tell immediately that he was drunk, for his eyes were glassy and bloodshot and he came in with a stupid grin all over his face – there he sat for half an hour, jovial in an uncoordinated, drugged sort of way – before eventually coming up at 01.40.
Today the weather has been windy – gale force all day. Nineteen eighty one – only nine years and it’ll be the futuristic 1990!