No real trouble riot-wise again last night, and Dad smiled this morning as he told me about the police baton charge in Whincliffe on Saturday night; twenty one rioters injured, no policemen.
At school, nagged by self-doubt all day. Claire talked again about her weird home-life, her hatred for her brother, etc., and somehow I saw a different, deeper side to her than allowed by the usual superficial exchanges. I got a glimpse of what she’s really like. I wandered down to watch Sports Day with Darren Busfield. I was helpless with laughter at some of the participants’ efforts. In English, Slicer talked about her teaching, Saturday job etc., and gave us a moderately interesting lesson; V. S. Naipaul once more.
I stayed behind talking with Jeremy, Deborah, and a few others. We got next year’s timetable down and helped with a remedial English computer course-thing for John Truswell’s aunt, drawing up symbols for sentence-help.
Dad has to work 12 hours until six tomorrow morning. There are rumours of trouble.