I went into Easterby again with Dad and called in at the library. I felt bored, tired and depressed, Tesco overshadowing my every move. I was just looking for Walden when Grant appeared, all awkward smiles and jerky unease. Our conversation was stale and tedious and for the most part we were just silent.
We went and looked round Smith’s, a few second hand clothes shops, and I embarked on an unconvincing hunt for trousers. Grant’s silent impatience and cursory interest were readily apparent. At HMV I bought Mouth’s 45 “Who's Hot?”
There's so much I hate about the pretentiousness, hollow posturing, and image mania associated with today's music: the cliquishness (you're not in, you don't wear the right things, listen to the right music, read the right authors); the stifling obsession with surface appearances over people. It’s all just a manifestation of the herd instinct. That's why I find jazz so attractive sometimes, because despite its elitist tendencies it seems more honest and free from sickening pretence.
Tesco was OK but I was tense and angry when I got home. The World Cup semi-final was amazing. France were leading 3-1 in extra time but W. Germany came back to equalize and then win on penalties. I couldn't watch at the end.
I don’t really know what I want for my birthday so Mum is ordering me those oil paints.
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