Sunday, June 7, 1981

'At my age'

Rain once more today; sighs, curses, from one and all. Dawn of a new ice age, ‘when I was a lad’, etc. etc. We set off for St. Mary's Abbey but I was in a black, depressed mood which was irrational and really quite unfair on Mum and Dad. I don’t know, but perhaps it has something to do with the fact that there I was, out with them ‘at my age,’ when I could be out with friends or even a girl.

My depression didn’t lift until we'd wandered up towards Kirk Aislabie, seen two large herds of deer and a small herd of entomologists, and Mum promised me a second-hand bicycle (“after your holidays”) if I can get one for around £40. I bucked up a bit after that. We wandered up a path that didn't, as we'd thought, link up with the Abbey grounds but climbed instead up into woods, farmland, and through herds of over-friendly and under-milked cows. Mum's face was taut and panicky, her voice tinged with the usual “where are we” whining, but I must admit I was glad to see the ruins as we plunged down a field and climbed over a barbed wire fence in pouring rain. After some tea we headed home.

The evening passed listening to Sounds of Jazz or my new LP and watching Dad fit two speaker-shelves in my bedroom. One whole year of this diary! 365 days! Amazing.

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