Blank

I met Lee in Easterby at eleven. He was with his boxer dog Monty, a great sturdy slavering beast who charged around all day, straining at the lead and causing minor chaos.

We discovered a goldmine of suits at Suits Me. Many seemed to fit and all were in the range of £9-£20. We passed a pleasant hour or two trying on, examining and running out of epithets to describe them . . . I came away in good spirits with a brown & green check ‘60s suit with turn-ups.

It was warm again although there was a bit more cloud about and it was showery by the evening. Dad and I went up to Keddon Moors at six and spent an hour or so strolling across the bracken-clad hills in a blaze of setting sunshine. The clouds were very spectacular.

So I’ve come to the end of another book, 2200 pages and four years and one month in from the day I started, June 8 1980. End thoughts: things have got to change and the way I’ve let it slip and lost all interest or enthusiasm for this narrative has got to go. I won’t go over the old ground again. I know the pros and cons too well by now, but I confess I haven’t a clue where or how to go from here, knowing only what I DON’T want to do, which is to continue in the present secondhand and word strangled fashion. The book form is more suited to ways of old than ways of now and I feel like raving on to break the spell words and sentences have over me, but oh so much talk, which IS NOT ENOUGH!

I’m leaving the succeeding two pages blank as a symbol of my frustration and lack of direction. After four years, the wheels are grinding to a halt for this current configuration, or at least I hope and pray that this is so.

Only I can decide, so. . . .