Saturday, January 2, 1982

Decadent rubbish

“Decadent rubbish! They’re conning you lads with a load of twaddle!” Dad’s verdict on The Pop Group, the Gospel according to St. Ernest. At teatime he got on about it again, calling their music “terrible” and saying “the proper composers will be turning in their graves. Even yobbos in t'cells could do better. . . well, they probably are yobbos!” I said that that was only his opinion and he got angry, snapping “Oh shut up,” and making annoyingly absolutist comments. I couldn’t help getting riled up.

He proceeded to ban me from playing The Pop Group while he's in the room. At this I could feel my anger boiling inside at his intolerance and censorship. The atmosphere was soured. What right has he to do that and say such things, as if he's the judge of what's good and bad? The more I think about it the more incredible it seems. He got really angry!

The first violent media deaths of ’82: someone blown up in N. Ireland, a man in Auckland, N.Z. found decapitated after trying out his home made guillotine. At teatime Mum and Andrew both lectured me on diplomacy and tact, and I suppose it’s true. I should learn by Dad’s mistakes, not respond likewise.

At about seven-thirty I was downstairs, having just made a Herculean effort to start my essay on Naipaul, when Andrew asked if I fancied going to the pub’ with him. I said OK and we set off for the Windmill. We didn’t stay there long. Beetham and Boocock and girlfriends from school were there and for some reason I was embarrassed. Me and Andrew talked about his involvement in the Badon College Student’s Union but how he dislikes politics. I said I thought I could end up being a militant NUS person but then I felt like I was sinking into cliché. Why do I have such a negative view of things?

On to the Rising Sun, which was packed out, as expected. There were loads of people there I knew: Sean Barker, Nigel Duckett, Gillian Pugh, Mr. Gledhill, the Chapelside ex-student lot, etc. . . . We drank loads, exchanging wooden formalities with everyone, and Gillian came over and talked with us. "You were really bad that Tuesday" she said, referring to the former students thing at Harvey's. We had quite a long conversation, which is amusing because she's regarded as the school 'dosser.' I had five pints and got quite drunk.

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