Friday, January 1, 1982

We are time

New Year's Day. Grant arrived at twelve, bringing with him an album by The Pop Group and we sat for a while and played records with Andrew. This made me uneasy. How would they react to one another?

I began to realise, probably because I feel like I change so much when I'm in different situations, just how strange Grant really is. The perspective of the two different ‘me’s’ – the Grant me and the me of home – gave me a balanced sort of view of him. He constantly hides or rubs his face with his hands, and frequently scowls or frowns because he's paranoid. His laughter is a bit too loud at times. I told him I could see him being really unstable one day, and he found this interesting.

We went for a walk. It was foggy and the roads were even more slippery than before. As we walked up Glenbank Lane, Grant told me about how people at school think he's pretentious, and about his New Year’s Eve at the Albion in Ashburn, “I felt angry.” We reached the top of Glenbank and were greeted by the panoramic sweep of skyline from Moxthorpe right over towards Knowlesbeck, Heber, and Keddon moors and beyond. It was sunny, yet the entire Cluder valley was filled with a sea of white mist above which floated the disembodied yellow and black streaked bulk of Ainsley Hill, still covered in deep snow, against a hazy blue sky. We were really impressed and so we sat on a bench for a while, just admiring the view. What with the weird landscape spread out before us and a man riding around in a horse-drawn sleigh it was all slightly surreal.

I thought about last night. . . . Maybe it was just a hangover, but it felt like everything was pervaded with negativity and a sort of pessimism.

We wandered on amid amazing sunlit-blue shadow scenery and I wished I had a camera. We thought of going all the way to Knowlesbeck but turned off Gilthwaite New Road instead, down a footpath through snow fields and feathery mist-shrouded trees, the sun now a yellow disc surrounded by a smokey glow, weird-looking through tangled branches. I enjoyed this the best. We walked, slipped, and fell our way down to the footbridge and stood over the road watching the traffic and thick fog and talking. . . .

When we got back we played records and watched Talisman and The Specials on Something Else's pick o’ the year. Grant invited me to a concert with a mime act and poetry reading at Easterby Poly and things wound down to their gloomy silent conclusion. We both sat in the living room, hardly speaking. He left just as 2001: A Space Odyssey was beginning. Mum confessed to being “bored stiff” by the film and I admit it wasn’t as good on TV.

Andrew says Grant comes across as pretentious. I don’t know what to think.

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