Scenarios

An unremarkable day, the only novel event being a discussion during last period of History between Mr. Gray, Jeremy, and Duncan about Coronation Street. I asked Gray about University courses and he told me to pick a “doss subject.” I couldn’t believe it. I was dreading Art because once again I hadn’t done the work–I keep promising myself so much but end up feeling daunted and overwhelmed. I had a Careers interview with Mr. Beech, but it didn’t help my dilemma at all.

Comments people have made have lead Claire to think I’m selling the bike she gave me, and now I’m sure she’s being funny about it. But, when I catch her eye–that longer-than-usual-look, that smile–well, the fantasy scenarios are never far from my starved mind and I report them here only for the benefit of any future psychoanalysts, and I suppose in an effort to convince myself they are true.

Poor me

Dad took the car in, I got  my hair cut, and I got into school at ten. Poor poor me, how badly things went. Surface normality, but my puerile, fanatically insignificant mind had a field day, and I couldn’t stand anyone, myself even less.

After History, Mr. Emsley started acting friendly all of a sudden (he saw me at the match on Saturday) and called me by my first name. Several indolent hours in the common room later I walked home with Tim Moyles, Darren Busfield and Peter, ending up at the latter’s house for coffee, and we acted childish and silly, giggling like little girls, being crude and making rumours up about one another. It was gratifying to see Peter uneasy for once: it’s usually the other way round.

Underwater

I dreamed I was near some trees, with someone else but out at sea, and the rising tide covered the trees completely and one of us decided to spend the time underwater, in the branches. The sea was really wild, with foam and spray everywhere. When the tide receded it revealed an island covered in short grass where rabbits lived and I remember thinking how strange it was that the sea could cover this place. Then I was on some sort of rig, near the shore, holding on to a pipeline and I nearly fell backwards into the sea but was caught by one of the other people there. A really weird dream.

A pretty average Sunday. Dad got home at two and at teatime Ken and Shirley picked up Nanna P. I had a bath and watched TV all evening. I tried to get something worked out about a University but there's so much choice and my desires feel so tenuous I was overwhelmed. The work I have to do! I'm interested in English with African and Caribbean Studies.

Box

I slept all morning and got up at eleven-thirty. Uncle Kenneth and Shirley had dropped Nanna P. off and Mum and Dad were discussing the merits of three cars: Viva, Lada or Fiesta? Our old one has failed the MoT and will cost £500 to put right.

At quarter-after-two I set off to Cardigan Park. Athletic were playing second-in-the-table Bishophill, and as I got off the bus I met Robert. As we walked down to the ground he told me that they've been given another kitten, a tabby they've named Spike.

Athletic got off to a good start but an old bloke next to me kept tapping me on the shoulder or arm and droning on about how the team’s gone downhill since the ‘30s. I missed Athletic’s first goal because of him so we moved and shortly after Athletic scored again. A Pattison penalty put them 3-0 up by half-time. The atmosphere was exciting although that old uncertainty at the back made things tense and a bit nerve-racking. Ten minutes after the restart, Athletic scored again, a good header from a McArdle cross and then, unbelievably, scored a fifth; such a superb, happy feeling in the crowd! Bishophill never gave up, but they had such a poor defence that you could just tell when Easterby were going to score.

A typical Saturday teatime and evening of watching TV and drawing up league tables.

Rhetoric

After torrential rain last night, today was clear and sunny, but an undefinable autumnal feel was in the air. More of the same at school: I can't help feeling like I do and I really am quite on my own. In the afternoon, Lee, Tim Moyles and Peter came round to see my bike and stayed for a bit. After that I did nothing but watch the box.

I’ve been thinking just recently about joining CND and getting involved in meetings. This desire springs partly from watching such idealistic things as Cosmos and The Making Of Mankind but something stops me from making a final move; I mean, why stop at nuclear weapons? Conventional weapons disposed of 55 million people in the last war!

There are also other aspects that make me reluctant. CND's the “in” thing to be into at the moment and there's a hint of the pro-Soviet about it. I get the feeling that many of its young supporters are there just for a laugh and they'll drift away when fashions swing. I really wish I was decisive. Mum says she dislikes “the feminists and extremists” that CND attracts, and Dad says he basically agrees with CND but expresses the usual ‘Moscow's-out-for-world-domination’ Daily Express rhetoric.