Teenage angst from October 1985

As I will not be near a computer until Wednesday evening, at the earliest, I thought I would treat you to the entirety of the October 1985 diary extract, which shows me moving away from some old friends, one of whom had been my 'best friend' for eight years. It reads as more Primary Schooly than I remember, but it leads up to quite an amusing finale, which I had actually quite forgotten... I was in Upper Sixth, a few months short of 18.

So you don't have to read it in one sitting; I would be interested in your gut reaction, and don't hold back, because this was literally half a lifetime ago, so any judgement you make is not really on me, nowadays.

Today has been a weird mixture, some bits have been okay, like sixth lesson and bits of lunchtime in which I missed with Charlie (Andrea Bl), Sandi and Froggy (Fiona D). I also looked at prospectuses for Polys in the careers room. I am really interested, as an alternative to University Politics, Polytechnic Media (or Communication) Studies.

But then, there were others part of the day that weren’t so brilliant. I was checking duties just before Break in the Lower Sixth Common Room. Claire H can’t do it today as she has typing, so I said she had better swap with somebody. She said she didn’t want to, so I pointed out that if she didn’t I would tell Mrs Q. She said that the reserve could do it, so I pointed out that the reserve did it all last year. She still said she wasn’t going to, so I said I’d tell Mrs Q. She said she was shaking, so I said 'right, that’s it', she was obviously unaware of my close relationship with Mrs Q, and I went up. She was down like a shot, and gave H a real lecture, much to her surprise. Claire C also gave me a mouthful, which was uncalled for. Other people were alright, Joanne S actually volunteered to do Claire’s. The new girls were very anxious to see they would be doing it right. I was a sort of prefect, with the less than glamorous role of ensuring that Lower 6 turned up to their patrolling duties at lunchtime)
I went to the Common Room and felt a little exhausted, physically and nervously about the Lower Sixth, so took great exception to Judy saying that I was taking my Break after the bell had gone. She then cleared off, and Louise was saying that Judy didn’t mean it like that, treating me like a joke. I got really ratty and got mad, cos Louise treats me like dirt, and I lashed out at her. It was Claire C, who had got me mad, hindering me in everything I do, calling my name simply for the sake of, asking meaningless questions, not because she particularly wanted answers, but because she’s so lacking in imagination that she can’t find more constructive ways to occupy her time. The funny thing is, it doesn’t annoy me like she wants it to, it just means that I have less than a gram of respect for her.

I phoned Louise to apologise, but she didn’t seem prepared to accept it so I slammed the phone down. She phoned about three quarters of an hour later, apologising that the line got chopped off, and in a better humour.

I have really enjoyed myself today. Lessons have been reasonable (in RE we watched the Labour Party Conference – Kinnock and Scargill in direct confrontation over the issue of retrospective legislation to reimburse the miners for the funds sequestrated during the strike.

I had a double free today, which I spent in the Common Room, in the company of Esther and Helen, although we didn’t chat all the time. Magda and Finola rolled in from their sickbeds, and Petra arrived from somewhere and we spent about twenty minutes hearing about our sex lives from Finola’s Sex Signs book.

Then we assembled outside to drive to the Jewish museum in Cheetham Hill. Those at the front of the minibus must have wondered what was coming from Esther, Magda, Sophie, Finola and me at the back because we kept collapsing into giggles.

The museum was good. It was in a converted synagogue and the women’s gallery is now a Museum of Manchester Jewry. It was okay.

Well, my kids, I learnt something really interesting today. It’s not my imagination that Andrea and Louise are boring, empty and shallow. I spent about twenty five minutes with them at lunchtime, and I was bored to tears. What’s more, I could tell by Andrea’s attitude that she didn’t really want me around, but she just didn’t have the guts to tell me to get lost. Never mind, I won’t present her with the opportunity in the near future. I’ll be pleasant – of course I’ll be pleasant – but I can think of better ways to pass my time. Like tomorrow lunchtime, I will work either in the library or the Common Room. Mind you I have to laugh, on the bus this evening, Helen described Andre and Louise as immature, and neither Sandra nor Angela disagreed. I did explain that Louise is very protected - her Mum’s picking her up from school to go shopping for some buttons for a cardigan. I recall Andi Bl saying yesterday that she thought it was great when I hit Louise on Tuesday – she’s wanted to do this for ages herself (so have I, incidentally).

Well, there’s no harm in sticking to the same pen for two days running – even if I will be using my red biro tomorrow (very childish, don’t tell anybody, but we must all have our little superstitions). Talking about tomorrow, tomorrow being United’s eleventh League game – if they win that they equal Spurs’ record. Yesterday, Sam L was saying that Jill Brazil was saying that George Best put £1000 on United winning their first twelve games at 1000-1: so if they do he will be a millionaire (and I bet he’ll blow it all on booze). Sam L lived next door to Alan Brazil and his wife Jill

I've hardly had a moment to call my own and I've been overchuffed. I've had a quiet laugh at Andre and Louise. In General Studies as Andrea walked in, she looked exceedingly self-conscious and said, “Where shall I sit?” and sat at right angles to me.

I was going downstairs when I fell and sprained my ankle. But I did manage to get over to the library.

I had lunch and then drove to Stretford. I did really well, only there are a few things, like Mr W doesn’t have us stopping at the end of our road and Daddy says I ought to. Mr W says I don’t go far enough up to the white line, Daddy says I go too far.

I spent a couple of hours with Grandad and Auntie June. Grandad's second wifeThey both seem a lot better and lot more cheerful, cracking jokes, being rude about the neighbours and so on.

I caught the bus home, some lads were on saying “Yeah and we went ahead, too.” So I asked how United had done. They said they’d drawn one-all at Luton (Sparky scored), so they won’t equal Spurs record of eleven consecutive wins to start the season. Never mind – they’ve extended their lead at the top of Division One, for Liverpool lost at QPR. We are ten points clear, and if we go on like this, we should win the title by thirty points. Doubt it, though. Incidentally, we finished the season in fourth. Liverpool are notoriously bad starters. Reading have equalled Spurs’ record, though. We finished fourth...

O prepared tea, and ate it, then I read Samuel Smiles’ Self Help and Stephen Ambrose’s Rise to Globalism while listening to Bakers’s Dozen. I do like the Song of the Volga Boatmen, and he also played a fabulous piece from Saint-Saens’ Samson and Delilah. I listened to Brahms’ first Symphony in C and watched The Blue Lagoon. It was about two children stranded on a tropical island, who grew up together. Some of it was cliched – it was obvious that they were going to end up making love and the girl would end up pregnant, but in some ways it was quite thought provoking – I wonder what anthropologists make of it.

I read the Sunday People. It was most interesting reading about Derek Hatton’s luxurious lifestyle (he’s the one throwing Liverpool into bankruptcy).

I filled in my PCAS form. I watched The Jewel in the Crown. I can’t help laughing at the snobby attitudes and I feel like spitting at the blatant racism.

This morning there was just Heneh, Andre and me in the common room. Andre said she must get this week’s TV Times because Steve Davis is in it. I grabbed my opportunity and said he ought to be ashamed of himself, to which Heneh immediately agreed. I said, and I believe this to be true, that it is disgraceful that a man of 28 is incapable of ironing his shirts or making himself an omelette. Andrea attempted to justify him, making excuses for him. So I told her to grow up (I was being deliberately provocative, I was wanting to see her reaction) and stop thinking that just because Steve Davis is her hero, that he is perfect. She got angry and said that she had never said that he is perfect. She doesn’t seem to like people criticising Steve though. I don’t think she’s speaking to me now. This is great for me, because so far, I have apologised to Louise, and made friendly overtures, but she has given me the cold shoulder, and now Andrea is not speaking to me.

The next exciting event lasted for two hours. Because both Mrs Mc and Mrs P have gone with the second years to York, I decided I would use my quadruple frees to get my ankle seen to. Unfortunately, it isn’t fractured. Pity. Like Adrian Mole, I hope for the worst, cos I enjoy suffering, and it has the romance of the poets.

After school I popped into the doctors to make an appointment. I saw old Primary School headmaster . He recognised me – even remembered my name. I was most impressed after six and a half years.

I spent the evening working while listening to Radio Three – although I picked up Radio Sweden International – and I also watched The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole aged 13 ¾.

I watched the Nine O’Clock News. Yesterday a West Indian woman dies of a heart attack while police raided her house in Tottenham. Inevitably, there were riots last night, said to be the worst ever in this country. One policeman hacked to death, others, and journalists suffering shotgun wounds. Kenneth Newman has brought in rubber bullets – thankfully neither they nor tear gas were used but it is rather Northern Ireland taking place on the streets of Britain.

The Conservative Party Conference opens today and Sara Keays has done the dirty again. Remember her, and how she messed up the jamboree two years ago. Well, she’s sold her story to The Mirror, on how Cecil Parkinson tried to talk her into an abortion, and it seems that Margaret Thatcher knew everything all along – and tried to gloss it over. I tell you, it’s Victorian values.

Before school I mentioned to Heneh that Andrea wouldn’t be speaking to me because of what I said about Steve Davis yesterday. Heneh told me not to be so stupid, it wasn’t that awful. Yet Andre gave me the bare minimal reply to the few words of conventional greeting that I said. Throughout the day I have been saying hello when we have encountered each other around school, and not only has she remained silent, but she has also failed to meet my eyes. I would have thought that I would have been very upset, or at least fairly distressed, but I have just been amazed. Louise is at the other extreme being totally and utterly gushingly openly friendly – as an afterthought. Sandra and Helen have been highly amused – as much as me, and when people like Sophie ask me why Andrea isn’t speaking to me, it sounds really pathetic saying “Because I insulted Steve Davis.”

The weather has been miserable, cold and a little bit wet. I have come to the conclusion that basically Louise is lacking in manners, to put it bluntly, she is ill bred. Like she didn’t accept my apology last week, and like she almost ignores me now unless really taken by surprise. Silly little girl. I tell you, I’d love to know what she’ll do over her eighteenth birthday, because I shall certainly not make any overtures to resume our former relationships, and I can’t see her doing so. Well, she’ll either not invite me, and I shall be ever so pleased (for I won’t feel any need or obligation to return the invitation in February – for I certainly don’t want her in my house). If she isn’t a little bit genuinely friendly before then, yet invites me to her party, I shall rip it up in front of her face and tell her that she’s only inviting me because she wants a present.

I lost my committee badge when I was walking to Alty at lunchtime. Esther has booked tickets for West Side Story. She could only get the circle. At first The price hit me, but Daddy has already agreed to pay for a £2.50 ticket, so I can pay £3 myself and on the week of the do find about five quid for train, programme and drinks etc. No hassle! We’ve already got twenty people to ensure the party booking. I've also got an invitation for Judy’s birthday do. There’s going to be fellas there too – probably not my type.
Yul Brynner and Orson Welles died today, only a week after Rock Hudson.

I had a quadruple free this morning because Mr S, Mrs Mc and Mrs P were with the second years in York.

I spent lunchtime chatting with Michelle, Liz and Liz. Esther arrived. She’s passed her driving test and is dead chuffed.

General Studies was okay. At the end of the lesson Andrea apologised for her behaviour over the past couple of weeks. I was glad she’s realised she’s been in the wrong, but I suspect she’s more upset that people are laughing at her than the fact that she’s hurt me. I said that I accepted her apology, but I have learnt a few things. She says can we be on speaking terms again. I said I had always been on speaking terms.

After school I went to the doctors. Dr J, of course ie the token non-Catholic doctor in the practice. I want to go on the Pill. He took my blood pressure and asked me whether I smoked. I said no – although I had given up two years ago. He said that that was noble of me and he said he gave up at the age of twelve.

I phoned Andrea and came to the conclusion that I am the mug of the year. I could have told her so many home truths, I could have told her how she was despicable, how she needn’t try using me for her own amusement, I could have told her that I may have been deceived by her for eight years, from now on I am not prepared to tolerate her moodiness. But I couldn’t say that, I didn’t want to her, despite the fact that she’s hurt me practically continuously since the June exams.

Why the hell am I using blue biro – it is not, surely in honour of her I had annotated with the date that this was Thatch's birthday. Can’t be. Can’t possibly be…can it?

I went out in the car to Grandad and Auntie June’s. Well, that car is driving me mad, the second gear is just so difficult to get into, and the engine needs looking at: it keeps coughing and spluttering, it’s very off-putting. They’re slightly better but things aren’t excellent.

I can’t for the life of me think of anything to say to Andrea apart from “Hi.” Never mind, it’s up to her to make the going. I came out with the really profound comment that “You Are My World” by the Communards (Jimmy Somerville’s new band) is just about the best record around at the moment, and I got absolutely no reply. So, as I say, the boot’s on her foot. I write this paragraph, not because I have an emotional need to get it off my shoulder (that’s the boot) it’s just, well, I hate to tell you only half a story and not continue the commentary. I’m looking at this in an amused objective style. Life is too short – and too full – for pettiness like this.

Like Design for Living. Everyone, including Big Ange, was impressed by my nut roast. We had a good time eating our meal, with a mugful of Esther’s home-brew. It hit me right in the head.

After school I had a riving lesson. I did two – or was it three – perfect turnings in the road, and my driving round the roads was almost perfect. I even avoided an oncoming police car with sirens and lights.

At home I made noted for a horrible essay about whether Disraeli was responsible for the modern Conservative Party.

I watched Tender is the Night, which is slow moving, but very descriptive and gorgeous.

Andre really is the laughing stock of the Upper 6th now. I was at the kettle as she came into the Common room this morning. Oh hello I said cheerfully. Hi, she mumbled to the wall. About five minutes later Heneh expressed a natural surprise that Andrea had slipped in while she, Heneh, was half asleep.
“She came in while I was at the kettle, didn’t you Andrea?” I said. No reply. I repeated this – after all she might not have heard me.
“Mm” she said to the floor. A week or ten days ago this would have hurt my emotions – all it does is fill me with amusement, and deepen my realisation that I can have no respect for her. Silly little girl. Is she seven or seventeen?

In RE Andrea J, Jenny, Katie, Isabel, Therese and I were sent to the library to do our work that we missed earlier. Inevitably, we were discussing it, after all, we were in the study room, and there was only us there, yet Menopause the school librarian, whose catchphrase really was 'Sshhh' came in to complain. Jenny and I said there was only us there, did it matter much. I asked whether we could be heard outside. She said that just wasn’t the point. Rules were rules. Therese said we ought to nominate Mrs M for Jobs Worth.

After school, I caught the 276x with Paula, Michelle and Nicola, but Nick the half-Burmese Ambrose Upper VI lad who Michelle is halfway to fixing up with Paula wasn’t on.

I have worked very hard, hardly had any time to sit around the Common Room, I haven’t bitched about anybody, not felt belittled by anybody, and generally felt okay. I’m really getting quite friendly with Rachel F a new girl in Lower Sixth, she’s nice and friendly.

I have worked hard throughout the day, even at lunchtime, where I spent fifty minutes in the library doing my Maths homework which became a lot easier after he had given a hint in the lesson. I went home with Paula, Michelle and Victoria. We got Paula fixed up with Nick, the man from Burma, and they’re meeting in the Griffin tonight. Of course, we couldn’t do this without the assistance of Ambrose first years. Typical us!

The phone rang. Matthew answered it, said it was Ashouk for me, but before I had the opportunity to tell him to get lost, Mother put the phone down. I was rather annoyed; firstly, because the call was for me, and I felt she had no right to interfere, secondly, it would have given me great delight to tell him where to go.

Jesus Christ, I am half deaded. I went out to Alty to do some shopping, and I must have walked miles, but who cares! I got some deep cerise lightweight wool material for a skirt, and then I looked in Singers for some blouse material but they didn’t have any silvery grey, so I thought I might as well look around the shops to see if they had any reasonably suitable blouse. But I only saw one – in Rackhams, it was a lovely grey ruffled blouse, £14.99, reduced from £19.99. I thought that was a bit steep for a blouse, so I forgot about it. I returned to the market and noticed a permanent shop (Worsley Fabrics) across the road, so I bought a white material from there. It is poly cotton, and looks pin-striped, although, in fact that is a change in the texture – piqued, Mummy says. I also got a birthday present for Judy.

I came home, very satisfied with my shopping. The material, buttons and cerise thread came to £9.78. Not bad. Mother or Pauline would have done the sewing - I don't sew, Pauline has Needlework A Level

I went out to Church, but left during the sermon. You see it was the Confirmation Mass. I noticed Gaz and Tony in the same situation of having been to the wrong Mass.

Ee gods, there’s nothing like false strained ‘good mornings’. There’s a new expression in the Upper Sixth ‘doing an Andrea M’. Charlie (ie Andi Bl) said Mrs Mc did an Andrea M at the station – glared at her, and looked straight through her. That’s not a strict definition, but who cares!

I managed to talk Mrs P out of a lesson this lunchtime, for Jane K was away, and I wanted to read the paper, and attempt to further my Maths homework – not that I got very far. Mind you, a Cliffie hint in the lesson helped me in the evening.

After school, I had a driving lesson, which was quite interesting. After Hale and that, I went down Woodlands Road, Stockport Road and Altrincham Road way past Timpsons, and somehow – via Princess Parkway and Barlow Moor Road and Chorltonish to the far end of Edge Lane and then home

In RE we had a talk from a woman from Dr Barnardoes and I volunteered to collect house to house and in the streets a week on Saturday.

I didn’t have an Italian lesson because Charlie said that Sam said that Mrs K had gone home during the French lesson, so I went home with the 276x crowd.
I read a letter from Susanne. She reckons Andre ought to be back in primary school!

I had a really interesting thought this morning. Some people try to write their every thought in their journal – I can’t see the point, because it becomes obsessive.

Today has been a good laugh, without being over exciting. We had the Harvest Festival Lesson four. It was middling. Yolanda C and Rachel B did a dance to ‘Do They Know It’s Christmastime’. People were laughing a little, but you have to admire their guts. I wonder whether it was significant that there was a black and a white in the offertory procession.

There is trouble stirring in the Upper Sixth. Shaunagh and Tara are arranging a Sixth Form Party with St Ambrose. Because the lads fiddle the tuckshop, they’re giving the Chequers tickets away free, so that means that Loreto can’t sell them. Therefore Shaunagh and Tara want to collect money from people under the auspices of the Sixth Form Fund, and then use it for the party. I object to this, for I do not think I will be able to go – least I hope not, because it’s the same day as the Oxford PPE interview. Gabrielle objects because it's on a Tuesday, and people don’t like out to be late mid week – I also suspect that Gabrielle, leaving in Heaton Mersey has no great desire to be clubbing in Alty midweek. In addition, we object to the principle of extracting money by false pretences, and I have already begun spreading the word to those that matter.

I watched the Nine O’Clock News. Oh my God, that was awful. All this time we’ve been led to believe that things have improved in Ethiopia since Michael Buerk’s report on the 23rd October 1984. Somethings certainly have improved, many people are looking healthier, but they have discovered a new area where people are wasting away. Michael Buerk was saying how much Ethiopia spends on arms, and how the Sudan exports Maize; he was saying how much foreign investment is spent in the cities and how little in the country. “You have saved their lives, but whether they are worth living remains to be seen.”

In Government we were discussing Jack the Ripper. Apparently one of Queen Victoria’s son was thought to be Jack the Ripper, but there was a big cover up to avoid what would be the ultimate scandal of all times. Mrs P says that Gladstone was also suspected, because of his fetish for rescuing prostitutes.

When I got home, I opened a letter from the BBC inviting me to spend an afternoon seeing how ‘Northwest Tonight’ is made, so I phoned Steve Ireland (the news editor)’s secretary to arrange a day – Wednesday – I’m really looking forward to it.

Today I learnt that Maggie Thatcher is either a necrolatrist (she worships corpses) or a necromaniac or necrophile (she desires sex with corpses – the corpses being Ronnie Reagan and Keith Joseph).

I listened to the coverage of United at Stamford Bridge. Graeme Hogg was sent off, after being booked earlier in the game. I think that’s proved how much I've changed recently. Less than a year ago, I nearly cried when Mark Hughes was sent off at Sunderland, five months ago I cried when Kevin Moran was sent off against Everton, today I just accepted Graeme’s dismissal with equanimity. Anyway, it didn’t matter, because we won two-one (Olsen and Hughes). Of course, we’re still top, still ten points ahead of Liverpool. And Reading lost at bury, so United are the only unbeaten team in the League.

After lunch I worked and worked, and worked and eventually I got ready to go out. Somehow I should have known it was going to be one of those evenings. I cut my legs shaving, I thought the blood had finally clotted, so I put my stockings on – and smeared the blood. They were still wearable, but…Then to crown everything, I applied perfume to my arm and came out in a rash.
The party was okay to start with. When I arrived, Andrea, Louise, Siobhan, and two of her friends, Chris and Fran (fella) were there, as well, of course, as Judy, Aisling, Marie, Judy’s Mum, Chris, and Pam from Youth and Music. Various people began to arrive: Esther and Mike, Ruth and Don, Shaunagh, Jane, Janet, Sam P, Martin T (L6), plus Carl and all the other lads. I chatted with Martin for ages, together with Sam and Andrea J. Martin was saying about, ‘What has Sam said about me, whatever it is, it isn’t true.’ We were chatting about mutual friends. Michael Cs has joined the Army – is at Sandhurst.

It was grub up, and I chatted to various people. Mike’s not put any more companies into liquidation recently. I finally met Carl (Judy's brother, who had recently moved over from Ireland). My first impression of him was not unfavourable. He looks very like Aisling, only more Irish. Some people were being really friendly, others were being downright rude, but what do you expect from Andrea M. You wouldn’t credit it, would you, but she and Louise had to have the snooker on. Can you believe it, watching snooker at a party?
I got chatting with Siobhan’s friend Chris. He’s in Upper Sixth at an independent school in Manchester. You might be able to guess that the mood got to us, and we ended up passionately embracing, kissing, semi heavy petting, you know. Then we decided it was a bit public, so we found a bedroom.

We were hardly in there when Aisling knocked and said, “come out in a few minutes.” So we remained there a bit longer, then Carl came in and chucked us out, very friendly style. So back in the living room, we snogged a bit again, Judy played hell, and there was dead silence except for Paul Young.

“They’re listening to us” said Chris, so I began chatting about the weather. Eventually he decided he’d better go, so we went out and fondled on the park wall for a bit.

I came inside and had lemonade (until then I had had some punch – four glasses of) and went to the loo. I came out and Magda said, “Will you go into the bedroom,” dead authoritarian like. Andrea and Louise were there. You don’t really think I’m prepared to be lectured by Andrea and Louise, about how upset Judy was. For God’s sake, if you’re having a mixed sit-around-and-natter-with-a-glass-in-your-hand party, you’ve got to accept that people’s natural instincts will take over. It did occur to me that some of those who spent the rest of the evening glaring – Andrea, Louise, Sam etc – have never been to a mixed party since childhood, and Louise, Magda and Sam wouldn’t know what to do with a man if he fell into their laps.

Later on by chance, I ended up in the bedroom with Carl. I asked him whether it was true that Judy was upset, and he said not at all, just wary of Ma. We then got chatting about meat marketing, which he’s thinking of taking up. Louise came in, saw us, said, “Excuse me,” very haughtily, and marched out. She probably thought I was going to ravish Carl, too.

My only regret is that we’re not at school this week. Can you just imagine the bitching, the scandal, the accusations, and, from me, total mockery and apathy.

Chris from last night phoned, and said he’s be around in half an hour. He arrived within ten minutes, and we chatted for a time, then we went out to the coppice. You wouldn’t guess what for, so I had better tell you – to have sex. Obviously, I am totally inexperienced, but I reached orgasm, which means that I am a tremendously sensual person. Well, my dears, the moral is: let a proper emotional relationship get going first.
I went home and revised Chartism.