Saturday, December 25, 1982


I went out last night with Grant and Lee, and although I’d been looking forward to it I ended up feeling pretty disappointed and sickened off with the whole thing. As Dad was driving me on to Lodgehill I imagined this would be the climax of my Christmas holiday. But it all turned out a bit dismal.

I got to Grant’s at 8 and Lee got there soon after and we set off for the Albion in Ashburn where we going to meet Grant’s friends Nik, Anne, and Jenny. It was quite crowded, but soon quite boring too, and Lee didn’t enjoy it at all. It was packed and noisy and I started to feel ill. My stomach churned and I felt suffocated by the warm stuffy atmosphere.

Everything turned very silly: someone nearby smashed a couple of beer glasses, and then two others started singing and screaming and poured drinks over one another and my trousers got sodden. We got involved too, screaming at the tops of our voices, Grant in particular being his usual erratic self, annoying Anne with his paranoid and neurotic apologies or or dominating events with loud and bizarre behaviour: she rousted him quite viciously,

Finally at eleven I fought my way outside for some fresh air and stuck my fingers down my throat to make myself sick, hoping I’d feel better. I violently heaved on to the cobbles and messed up my shoes, then met up with Lee and we walked home. I felt pretty shivery and my stomach was upset. The whole experience was sickening, boring and depressing, and there's no way I could ever come back to Easterby.

I got up this morning at quarter-to-nine and we opened our presents soon after. I got a couple of jumpers, a shirt, an Arthur Blythe LP from Andrew and a book on Helen Vaughan from Dad. It was a quiet Christmas by usual standards.

Robert and Carol came mid-afternoon, bearing a box full of gifts (a Pears Cyclopaedia for me). My Arthur Blythe album is really good, especially “Jitterbug Waltz.”

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