Friday September 5th

It was throwing it down when I set off a bit late again. Mrs Newsholme read out timetable changes – it seems that Wilson has been able to alter it after all, and I am doing Biology now. The first lesson was English in P18 with Mr Giles, my fifth form English teacher in which we began to analyse a poem from an old ‘A’ level Paper 3. The poem was called “Bathing Off Roseland” and concerned, superficially at least, a bather floating trance-like through the water. When we got down to the bare bones though, we found that the poem was really about faith, comparing his dream-like drifting to religion etc. Once everything was explained and sorted out, it all became quite clear, and by the time the lesson ended I was really getting into the poem.

The second lesson started confusingly. The notices this morning only dealt with changes, and since my choice wasn’t clear, I hadn’t got all the Biology lessons sorted out on my timetable. I had also forgotten to put in a lesson, with the result that that I didn’t know what I was doing. At first I thought I was in history and nearly ended up in the ‘O’ level class and eventually had to be told by Mr Ingham where to go.

Because of the alterations, we have triple Biology on Friday’s from Period 2 to 4, and we swapped from L4 to L3 and then to P10.

The work was pretty dull – something about sugar molecules – and left me wondering what I’d done in choosing Biology.

I didn’t have a dinner and spent my time talking to Lee Hoy until 2.20 and registration and then home.

Dad was still in bed when I got home and when he got up he seemed his usual depressive self (slamming doors because of the wind). At five approximately, he rang Horner’s Garage to see if the car was ready (it failed the MoT) and it wasn’t. More curses, despair and general sighing, “I’m stalled” attitude. I can understand though, because he has taken some of his annual to get the weekend off for Scarborough Road Races and now he can’t go (or won’t – he refuses to go on the train “on principle”).

Andrew and I spent the evening playing records (it was clear) and watching the sunset. We were fairly light hearted about everything, especially since we’re going to the races tomorrow. It’ll be a relief to escape Mum and Dad’s manic depression over the car, the weather, prices, the world, the police, the cat . . . . . . . . . . . . . !

Thursday September 4th

Similar to yesterday. I got to school a bit late again and found that everyone had been split into registration groups. Along with Trevor Woodrow and Darren Busfield, who also had arrived late, I went to Mr Ingham who told me that I was in P19 with Mrs Newsholme – good. I quite like her.

For most of the morning I sat in the common room talking but mostly listening to Duncan Verity commanding the attention of Angela Reid, Sharon Ashton and Dawn Jagger. Do I detect jealousy here? When it comes down to it, I’m full of pretty childish and trivial attitudes such as jealousy (mainly jealousy) and love of image-making. When I’m home and I think about these things I see Richard Pryor types on television and I think, I’ll be just like that at school tomorrow, cool, witty and generally appealing. But when the crunch comes I’m reduced to my inevitable lack of ability to make conversation, my pathetic monosyllabic dialogues, forced and sheepish smiles and flustered feelings. I often think what a boring, constrained, dead person I must seem.

At 12.29 I had dinner (fish fingers, roast potatoes and sponge stuff) and then English Literature. At the moment, I’m having only two lessons (History and Literature) instead of three. This is because I want to do Biology but this clashes with History, so the wheels of authority mess is being sorted out. I was pretty pleased when, during dinner, Newsholme came across and asked me whether or not I’d got my timetable resolved. I said I hadn’t and that Mr Wilson was probably going to be able to sort Biology out (at least that’s the impression I got this morning). Newsholme said “Great,” leaving me feeling pretty good. At least I seem to be wanted somewhere!!

My first Lit. lesson was with Slicer again (Julius Caesar – read by next Wednesday) and then Hirst in M1 to discuss the role and definition of a novel. All highbrow stuff!!

Most of my evening was spent doing homework again. I read most of “The Russian Revolution” for History, and I know that that is one subject I really am going to enjoy.

Wednesday September 3rd

My first full day of school and my first in the sixth form. I arrived in school slightly late – everybody was crowded into the Common Room answering Ingham’s roll call. There must’ve been over fifty people there.

First thing we had an assembly downstairs in the dining hall, and I got a big shock when Barkston, amid all his usual “welcome back” crap suddenly announced that I had received a “commendation” from W. H. Smith’s for an essay I had entered through school in a “Children’s Literary Competition.” The essay I entered was a short-story – “Day Tripper,” about a drug addict – and I had completely forgotten about it. All I got was a corny, cheap looking certificate and the privilege (!) of going out to the front to shake Big B’s hand. I suppose Arthur C. Clarke had to start somewhere.

After this I had no lessons until second lunch and English Lit. I passed my time on by reading V. S. Naipaul’s “A House for Mr. Biswas” and talking to Laxton, Chris Steedman and Abbott etc., or just sitting there while Robin Quinn and people drifted in and out to Maths, Chemistry or Physics. Depending upon which I do (Maths or Biology) I’m missing out on lessons until my timetable is sorted out.

At the appointed hour all the ‘A’ level English Literature people trooped down to B10 for our first lesson of the year with Mrs Slicer. Hoy and Beaumont seem to have it in with her, they kept on cracking cynical witticisms and making sarcastic, nasty comments about, or with, her.

We had to begin reading “Julius Caesar” which I don’t suppose I shall enjoy. When this lesson ended at about 1.30 p.m., we went to P18 for more English with Ms Hirst (as she likes to be known), who set us some reading for tonight (Chapters 1 and 2 of “Persuasion” by Jane Austen – the book seems to consist of nothing at all and she takes all of Chapter 1 and 2 just setting the scene).

In the evening I did a lot of the work set, which gave me a good sense of achievement for once. I know that once I complete homework I feel really fulfilled and proud almost; it is just finding the initial drive. I also watched “Morecambe and Wise” and a League Cup special on Beeb One. My tips to go down to Division Two this season are Sunderland, Manchester City and Stoke City.

Tomorrow I’m hoping to get something done over my timetable.

Tuesday September 2nd

Today I got up at 7.30, because I was going to school to resolve my time-table problems. I was surprised on the way there because I didn’t see any 3rd, 4th or 5th years trooping in to school.

I arrived at about 8.40 a.m., to find about 15 other people already in (Tracey Booth, Lynn Norden, Wendy Heath, Abbott, Stephen Dodds, Julie Crabtree etc . . . .) and I passed the time on by discovering other peoples’ results – Mark Hardy got 7 (1 A; 2 B’s and 4 C’s) while Stephen only got 3.

Mr Ingham came in after about an hour and called out my name and I followed him into the 6th form Library. I still hadn’t really decided on my final subject choice and, after discussing it, we decided on History, English and Biology or Maths. Retaking CSE French wasn’t mentioned.

I was quite relieved to get it all off my chest and I walked home with Gary Abbott. Dad was still in bed when I got back, so I took the cat out for a walk and just generally farted around wasting my time.

Dad got up at about two and watched the Centenary Test on TV, England needing 385 to win but Botham cornily deciding to play out for a draw (Boycott got 100+), eventually ending at 243-3. During the afternoon, Dad had to go take his car in for its MoT which it failed because of poor front suspension and suspect steering. He was a bit annoyed, especially since he’s only just got it back from its 12000 mile service.

In the evening I listened to Radio North Sports Special which featured regular match reports from Sheffield. I was praying for the impossible but, predictably, Sheffield won 5-1 with three from McCulloch. I bet if he’d played in the first leg we wouldn’t have won. It was estimated that Athletic fans numbered 500 out of a total gate of 7000. Now that that’s over, we can concentrate on getting out of the Northern Alliance.

Today was a pretty nondescript day. I was really just filling in time until tomorrow I suppose. I should’ve got my pens, books etc. ready. Why am I so lethargic?

Monday September 1st

I did nothing at all day until six o’clock and the Easterby Astronomical Society, except mess around with my football leagues and just sit about.

Dad, who is on nights all this week, got up at about six after going to bed during the afternoon, and at quarter past I set off to go to the EAS.

I got there at 7.05 p.m., the only other people there being Nigel Rook and his mate and Brian Hudson. All the regulars soon began to arrive and by half-past I would say 30-40 people were present.

The planned lecture had been cancelled so Vincent Halliday brought in his video equipment. While he set this up I bought July’s copy of “Astronomy” magazine, the latest ed. of “Arcturus” and spoke to D. Kilpatrick about Wednesday night.

Vincent Halliday showed recordings of three programmes – “The Sky at Night” about the Zodiac which lasted twenty minutes, a short five minute extract from a programme called “Don’t just sit there” where Magnus Pyke visited the two old blokes who’ve built their own telescope and observatory, (John and Vernon I think they’re called). We also had “Worlds Apart,” a fifty minute spiel by Garry Hunt about the exploration of our Solar System. I suffered from all my usual, corny inadequacies, uncommunicative, self-conscious, and utterly abysmal. Today’s EAS cost me £1.99p.

Just before I went D.K. asked me if I was going to the Sheffield match. No, I said, I couldn’t and I left feeling pretty cheesed off.

I walked down Buckingham Road into Lockley to get the bus and ended up helping an epileptic. As I was walking slowly up Buckingham Road I could see a figure slumped against a wall near the entrance to Hamblin’s Hospital. As I approached, a Pakistani bloke crossed the road and spoke to the person slumped down there. He looked in a bad way as I drew level so I asked him if he was alright. He said, fairly coherently, that he’d just had an epileptic fit, that he was from the Hospital and that his name was Roy. I was just motioning to the Pakistani to help me carry the bloke in when, between them, they said it would be better if I went in to get help. This I did, going to an office on the first floor where two women were, one reading a newspaper, the other speaking on the telephone. I told them my story and that the bloke claimed to come from there, and went outside and waited. As I stood there I thought what a pathetic figure the bloke made, crouched there head between his knees amid his own blood. Shortly, one of the two women (the one on the ‘phone) and a long-haired social worker type came out (“Andy”) and helped the bloke into the hospital.

I didn’t feel quite so down-in-the-dumps after this. I had actually helped constructively, bailed out a fellow human in distress etc. I couldn’t have passed by without stopping – I suppose really it is the sign of a good upbringing.

When I got home I told Mum all about this, and, later, John, and watched “Marathon Man.”