Sunday, November 21, 1982
I got back to Watermouth mid-evening after setting out at half-eleven this morning. The coach journey was mind-dulling and as we were battered and lashed by torrential motorway downpours I kept thinking about Claire; it's funny how I should be so sensitive in that direction now all of a sudden.
I saw her in any number of girls of a certain type I saw on the journey: I pictured her in Mr. Gray’s history lesson, sitting on her chair and waving her hands about as she heatedly discussed something. I half-hoped to find a letter when I got back but no, and I think I'm as taken by the idea of Claire than anything more serious. . . .
My main impression of my visit home is of Dad’s contentment and the way he now seems to take things very much as they come instead of ranting and moralising about the news on TV or articles in the papers. I think he’s feeling much better at being free of police degradation and shift work. Now he can enjoy football as a spectator rather than an off-duty policeman: he’s been to every home match and even an away game since I left. It's really good to see his calm and happy frame of mind.