Thursday, December 31, 1981


Lee came at eleven and we intended on working but after a brief attempt at Hirst’s essay our efforts soon dissolved into boredom and lethargy. For a while we played Scrabble and drank tea up in my room. At two, Lee rang Claire and she invited us both over for her party.

We set off at seven, the roads glassy and treacherous. I took a couple of cans of lager and on the way over Lee bought a bottle of cider and I bought four more cans of Heineken. When we got to Claire's only her sister Linda and Evelyn were there but soon everyone started to arrive. The flat was rigged out with UV and disco lights and everything glowed with an incandescent purple; pretty flashy. Claire looked delighted when Adam showed up: he's a banker and a real creep and I suspect the only reason she's with him is for the money. Soon the music started thudding and the drinks began to flow and I made a conscious effort  to not get drunk and so had two pints of cider and a few glasses of wine and/or martini. . . . Even though I wasn't pissed I felt like reveling and I was soon frenetically dancing away with Lee and Linda and a few others, Claire on the sofa with her all-arms-and-smiles boyfriend.

At five minutes to twelve the music was switched off and we all poured drinks and loudly counted down to 1982: glasses were raised, New Year kisses exchanged (at least I got to kiss her once), and then, a discordant and monotonous rendition of Auld Lang Syne and back to the frantic dancing. Lee left at about half past twelve leaving me dancing happily hand in hand with Linda, and I got another kiss off Evelyn as she left. Claire busied herself with off-stage responsibilities and I felt miles away as ever. Nothing will ever happen between us: she’s too taken with materialistic affection for cars and expensive meals and her social life.

I eventually left at one-thirty with Paul to go jump in a fountain. . . .

He was pretty well gone by this point and we blundered into Moxthorpe, me with a bottle of port and he with one of Guinness, offering passers-by swigs and loudly wishing them a happy New Year. Thus we wandered aimlessly around the centre of Moxthorpe for half-an-hour, me feeling increasingly uneasy about the late hour and trying to drag the by now female-seeking Paul home. . . .

None of this gets me anywhere. I feel fed up really.

No comments:

Google Analytics Alternative