Lifts

I hated today. It was so depressing for some reason, Maybe it's just the thought of the three hour of Art-misery exam I have on Monday. Mum and Dad took me down to school early in the car so I could pick up Lee’s art file, but school was all locked up, kids with violins wandering mysteriously to and fro. They ran me on into Easterby without it.

Everything bright and new and I was supposed to meet Lee and maybe Jeremy too at the Library to do art revision but no one was there so I went and bought a 12” by Rip Rig + Panic. I got another Kerouac biography out and it seems so much more intelligent, thorough and scholarly than Dennis McNally's that I even thought of stealing it. Lee arrived at eleven, then Jeremy too, and we worked for a while but (childishly) ended up going off to play on the lifts. Later we wandered round Easterby.

A horribly pessimistic evening. Mum and Dad kept urging me to cheer up, but the Kerouac book was sad and morbid . . . his disillusionment . . . my disillusionment. . . . I felt depressed, negative and thoroughly black, which wasn't helped by Athletic going down 0-3 at Holmeshaw.