Sunday, April 19, 1981


I was really disappointed to be greeted by leaden, miserable skies on waking. Curtains for our boating.

Mum and Dad went hiking and had gone out when I got up; I sat miserably around in the dining room, half-hoping to hear the ‘phone ring, but it didn’t of course. At two so I set off for Cardigan Park and the football. Robert didn’t show up so I stood alone, absolutely freezing to death. Hydebridge scored early on and made it two with a good shot which Ackroyd could only palm into the net. Pattison missed a penalty. The second half was just as poor; Pattison missed another open goal with the goalkeeper lying on the ground. I was cold and bored and I left ten minutes before the end.

All evening I've been wallowing in rose-coloured reflections about yesterday. I’m so pathetic for doing all the things I expressed amazement at Michael B. for doing. Hypocrite.

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