Friday, August 20, 1982


Jeremy showed up unexpectedly and I was glad to see him; he stayed a couple of hours and soon was gone out into the rain-swept wildness.

Rob & Carol rolled up minutes after he'd left, full of stories of their Guernsey cycling holiday, its decaying Nazi gun emplacements and a vast underground military hospital complex complete with beds and fading swastikas on the walls. Robert gave me a jazz rock compilation, which is mostly bland muzak-style predictability.

At Tesco I got angry at that humourless bastard Mr. Thomas. Because Lee and I drove round with Peter to Lynn Norden’s to talk ‘A’ levels (the results generally very bad) and I forgot my overall we were late so Thomas made us work over to compensate. Never a word on the times I’ve worked early. “It's one of life’s lessons you’ll have to learn to accept,” says Mum. Why?

All day I felt sadness and despair, which sounds stupid after my good results, but they're only bits of paper and don't change a thing. I hate how one era of my life is closing down and just slipping quietly away without so much as a word or anything to mark its passing. I can’t help but be depressed and lonely. Mum and Dad are going away to Edinburgh tomorrow; I'll be stranded in this silent tomb by myself for a week.

I feel homesick about leaving already.

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