Friday, July 17, 1981
I don’t like the end of term, mainly because I feel so sad and enjoy school so much. I was given my report early by Ingham and was pretty disappointed with my Art grade, which is estimated to be a ‘D’. Apart from that, the report was OK, except for the usual warnings about complacency and lethargy. It made me feel down though. Assembly as thrilling as ever; the usual presentations, inept band display and tears from departing staff. Boring.
Afterwards, I stayed at school for several hours of inactivity, mainly characterised by stilted dialogue with Claire. She had her hair done today, and she looks really good; I felt like I talked with her a bit more than normal. I was melancholy again therefore at home, eaten with ‘reflectiveness.’ I’m going to miss school over the holidays.
Reluctantly I left and spent the evening feeling trapped and utterly pissed off; no money, no clothes, wanting a camera. . . . N. P. rolled up at teatime. I’ll have to ring Trevor Woodrow up about his bike he’s selling; Deborah told me about it Thursday.