Sunday, June 13, 1982


I'm bored with the writing in this diary. I use the same words and phrases over and over again. My ‘writing skills’ really are laboured and dull.

Mum was cleaning the brasses in the dining room when I got up. The strong smell of Brasso reminds me of days past: when I do go away it will be smells that transport me back. . . .

I didn't do any work until the evening. As soon as the first exam was over it was almost as if I’ve regarded the ‘A’ levels as done from a revision point of view. I haven’t done a thing since before Thursday’s exam’.

Fifty nine dead, seventy odd wounded in the Bluff Cove attacks last Tuesday. Civilians dead too, but Nott declared that setting up a safe zone won't hamper British operations. And they have the islanders best interests at heart?

The opening match of the twelfth World Cup wasn't televised because of the Falklands crisis. Absolutely pathetic. I revised into the early hours, really getting into and enjoying Expressionism, Macke, Marc, etc.

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