Wednesday, April 8, 1981
I had an incredibly vivid dream. Claire discovered this diary; meanwhile I was constantly hanging around, a fixture, part of the background, which must say something about my inferiority complex. Ingham took the assembly, which was quite a cutting one about sixth formers who attempt to ‘acquire’ personalities through images. The message was; ‘Be yourself’. In one of our three free periods, Darren Busfield threw an apple core at Laxton, which missed, bounced off a work surface, missed Claire by inches and whacked Duncan in the left eye. English pleasantly anonymous; nothing much happened. It was really warm today, and school smelled of freshly cut grass.
It was an idle evening and I was overcome with an incredible feeling of claustrophobia. I’m just so BORED!!! I never do anything different, and I’m full of dread at the thought of the upcoming fortnight of sheer, unremitting tedium, imprisoned inside with no prospect of doing anything different whatsoever. I got about half-way through my Russo-German essay.