Monday, June 21, 1982
Mess of my
The house was silent, dark and empty when I got up at eleven. Incessant rain and sheet grey skies. I started Doctor Sax; to be able to read for pleasure again! No more resentful and mind-dull analyses of set-books. . . .
Dad came home at two in one of his annoying bitter moods, his voice monotone as he dirged on about anti-police groups and the permissive “do your own thing” attitudes which are “undermining the fabric of our society.” I was “born too late to appreciate all the good things of our culture.” And so on and on.
I said I wanted to change things, and he said that wanting to change things is why the ‘new society’ mentality has been the downfall of Good Old England. “Things are best left alone.” He cited a Daily Express article about a school revolution engineered by “extreme left” teachers. What!? I thought back to yesterday’s inner city scenes of Lockley. How can he say things don't need changing? He is so opposed to anything new or different, anything which threatens the cosy simplicity of his patriotic black-and-white world.
The Royal infant arrived at 9.03. Instant TV lights, cameras, jostling journalists, chanting and flag waving. The Royals’ popularity is phenomenal!
Lately there's been so much tension, hassle, aggression all around: the media crap about the Royal baby; Scargill and his minions. . . . I feel knotted up inside at everyone and everything, an anger inside at people and their attitudes. Stuff the family of man as far as they're concerned. I don’t know how real all this is, yet here I am claiming to be the big humanitarian. But there are so many people I loathe at certain times.