Saturday, March 26, 1983

This place

I left the house last night at seven just as it was coming in dusk. I walked to Moxthorpe in optimistic mood. The sky was immense and vacant and darkened away towards the emptiness above Keddon, bounded only by a banked range of pale clouds striding distantly across the sky in the east, tinged ghostly white by the dying glare of the setting sun. Above me the dazzling blip of the moon. . . .

In Moxthorpe I bought a half-bottle of whisky and caught the bus to Grant’s. He was waiting with his coat on in the back room with denim-clad friend RJ, someone I vaguely remembered from Lodgehill.

It was bitterly cold as we walked up to the Magpie, had a drink there and then to the Hare and Hounds which is across the road. Grant was waiting expectantly for the arrival of people he’d met there two weeks ago, including droning Pat from the Poly and her friend Hilary. But as it became apparent they weren’t going to come, he slipped slowly into a bored and brooding silence.

I could feel myself starting to feel very pissed off. Even conversations seemed too much effort amid all the sighing and yawning. By the time we ended the evening in the Brass Cat I was weighed down under boredom and frustration. The lively evening I’d expected had come to naught, whisky remained unopened, my speed untouched. . . .

I walked home via Grant's, which only added to my morose mood.  I left Grant and RJ listening to tapes. . . .

Today Athletic went down 0-3 at Keyling Common. Dad was angry and embittered as a result. I think the monotony of this place is getting to me.

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