Wednesday, September 29, 1982
This morning I dreamed I went to Watermouth and hated it. . . .
At times I sentimentalize to a hopeless degree. This is brought on by The Harp of the Sky, I’m sure, but if the scene is set and the mood just right, my feelings are almost tangible and I can wallow in hopeless melancholy and sadness. It's as if I'm mourning someone who's been gone almost sixty years. I can’t explain it.
I sound so bloody pathetic!
At the tea-table I asked if Mum is coming to see me off at the train station on Sunday. She said she is and that she wouldn’t miss the “momentous occasion” of her “baby” leaving. This last part sounded strange coming from her: she isn’t normally sentimental, but that’s the second time in recent weeks she’s referred to me like that.
Athletic's match tonight against Whitstall Park was terrible. They're virtually a one-man team. Newlands is suspended and Tidemore was playing at no. 9 but Athletic were soon two down. They even missed a penalty. With ten minutes to go, they pushed Scarborough forward and plugged the defence with Hughes and Scarborough scored. The ref was completely biased and reduced us to shrieking and cursing at his incredible decisions. FT 1-2.