Monday, July 13, 1981


Fresh rioting over the weekend; the looting, window smashing and petrol bombing even hit Whincliffe and thirty were arrested. More mindless imitation? Dad’s in the thick of it now, especially as he’s on nights this week.

I got to school late; no assembly. I helped Evelyn print her Queen’s Club photographs which I quite enjoyed, especially as yesterday Mum and Dad promised to pay halves towards an SLR for Christmas. We got our General Studies marks back from Elson. I got 77% and beat Steve into second place by 4%. I was pretty surprised and was called a “bloody hypocrite” by Deborah, who remembered I’d barracked Steve earlier for 44/50 on multiple choice.

Total boredom.

At home Mum and Dad were in a stormy mood and shouted at each other, which is most likely apprehension and worry over the rioting. Late on I watched a programme, Return Call, about Coventry and the interviews with a group of skinhead animals were sickening. Q: “Do you just hit men?” – A: (from subnormal looking bastard) “Yeah, but I gob on Paki women–in the face!” BASTARD. And then the glib Raison bloke, a minister, blithely farting on about the Govt’s ‘concern’ (“… of course we are concerned”). . . . Yes, but not enough to bloody do anything. I hate the Government. Whitelaw is talking about arming the police up to the hilt. They’re all so out of touch, sitting there in their cushioned, bourgeois worlds . . . “of course we’re concerned.” Get stuffed Raison! I feel so bloody angry but I’m so helpless. No one cares. I wish I felt like this all the time; perhaps it would motivate me to do something?

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