Friday, May 21, 1982


That so familiar end of term feeling prevailed all day and I again wore my “tasteless” garb: initial hysterics but everyone soon settled down. People are doing so much work, and some claim six or seven hours a night. Grant says he's doing 3 hrs a night. Me? I never do a thing. It's so near, but so late.

News flashes and programme interruptions all evening. Two British deaths from a ditched helicopter, bloody battles raging in an East Falklands bridgehead, more SAS-style raids involving a thousand soldiers, heavy Argentinian air-raids on the Task Force (five British ships damaged, two seriously), fourteen Argentinian planes shot down. Total losses: British, forty five; Argentinians, four hundred-plus. There’ll be a lot more after today.

There's been so much depression in this house of late, and Mum and Dad are at each other continually. Dad got back from Nanna B's and it was niggle niggle niggle all night, a stranglehold of utter bitterness and utter depression! God, I cannot WAIT to get away and escape.

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