Sunday, December 19, 1982

Realist whine

I wanted so much to be out tramping the wilds of Bethany moors today to escape the claustrophobia I feel at home. But the rattle of rain against the window pane told me my wish was probably going to be unfulfilled. Dad offered to take me, but even as we were trying to decide, the elements combined into a lashing, gusting fury and Mum’s realist whine finally deterred me. I felt restless, miserable and suffocated in this small dark house, wanting to be outside, cursing the weather. . . .

Janet, her husband plus baby showed up in the afternoon. Michael is now 18 months old and can walk well, which he does, faltering occasionally, a wide-eyed, simple, almost overawed expression on his face. He demanded I lift him up and he fed me crisps and Refreshers.

Barry rang at teatime to say tomorrow's trip to his house is off as there's nowhere to stay and his Mum is making it complicated.

Next term is, I’ve decided, going to be a big improvement on the last. Not only am I determined to go out to concerts, plays, films etc more, but also I am going to try be stronger as a person. I will have to be stronger financially anyway . . .

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