Friday, April 17, 1981


I’m so stupid it’s incredible. I intended ringing up Claire about my History notes which she has, but from eleven until about six I sat about listening to records or the radio and worrying myself sick over it. Why, I don’t know but I’m just terrified that somehow she’ll see it as a blatant excuse for going down there (which it is but isn’t also). So, I’ve spent the best part of this afternoon torn with anxiety, doubt and indecision, all over one bloody phone call! I’m so neurotic. Finally, after standing about in the hallway for ages, I plucked up courage and dialed. Christ am I pathetic. I rang off after arranging to go down tomorrow afternoon and I felt like dying; I wanted to go hide. It’s so irrational!

Andrew went to Robert’s today and Mum and Dad brought Nanna P back after going shopping. She was was in fine form, and her relentless diatribe droned on much of the afternoon. Dad brought home a copy of The Spectator, which seems pretty impartial.

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