I was awake for only half the evening last night. I went upstairs at about eight and next thing I knew, I was in bed and it was morning; Nanna P. was in Mum and Dad’s room; the latter were downstairs and had had a miserable night. I just couldn’t remember getting into bed!
So today passed its featureless course: an afternoon trip with Dad to the bookshop in Beatrice Avenue where I bought a copy of The Brothers Karamazov. We returned to a grey Sunday afternoon house, to the TV and to Nanna P.
She’s returned to her normal vocal self after arriving yesterday in a silent, sullen mood. Mum and Dad had gone to Kenneth and Shirley’s, taking N.P. with them to enquire after the latter’s pension, which Shirley is supposed to collect. There ensued a bitter conflict between K. & S. because S. claimed to have lost N.P.’s pension book. Angry shouting, accusations, kids screaming, culminating in an attempted knife attack on Kenneth by his wife, which K. repulsed with a well-aimed blow leaving Shirley on the ground. Pandemonium; hysteria from the children, tears from N.P. and Kenneth, a ruined day for everyone else.
This incident cast a shadow across the whole of yesterday.
Athletic lost 3-2 at Ringway after clawing their way back from 3-0 down and they’re now bottom of the league. Rob rang and said that he thinks they’re going down. Gloom from Dad and cries of “where’s our luck?”
This evening I’d planned on writing a letter to Claire but it’s ten past midnight already and I’m feeling tired. I haven’t talked to her since June. Today was tainted somewhat by an antagonism between Dad and I. We don’t understand one another at all.
A vague, vague plan has always existed in my mind that one day, I’d like to write, and nothing else. I don’t know why I think this. Does it really matter what course I do at Watermouth?
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