Gertsamtkunstwerk

1984 Tweet

There's a silly meme I've just picked up on Twitter - tweeting as if it was 1984. I've done a few, and I could be on a roll, but I've decided to stop, in order to avoid really pissing off my followers.

• I really ought to be revising for my O-Levels
• I've just joined the Labour Party & done some leafletting for Trafford Coucnil* Elections. Solidarity with miners
• Going to watch Top of the Pops tonight. I wonder who else'll be on besides Lionel Richie

Of course it would be dead simple to go upstairs and dig out my diary from this day in 1984, but that wouldn't be as fun as writing as if I almost had a sixth sense and could almost predict the future. (And I'm not bothering too much about 140-character limits)

• Been out to take some photos; I'd love to take loads but wish there was a way to take photos without having to pay for D&P  & film
• Popped into the library to find out the latest MUFC gossip but they only had Times & Express. Frustrating...
  
• Damn, I missed TV prog last night. Even a video wd be no gd if you didn't know it was on. Wonder if they'll repeat it
• Watching Nationwide about Labour Politicians. There's these two blokes elected last year they reckon are future PMs.
• I bet there's some toff of my age at Eton who reckons he'll be next-but-one Tory PM. Prick.
• The brochure came for the Halle Proms. Never get any stars at the Proms, wish we'd get some international superstar singer
• Just been practising for my DS O-Level practical. They ought to have more cookery programmes on TV, but TV's just for blokes & blokes aren't supposed to cook. Typical of patriarchal society
• I wonder if Bryan Robson will be fit for the UEFA semi against Juventus
• I hate Liverpool, they keep winning & winning. I'd just like one Championship, please. Too much to ask?
• It's not fair, I've used the phone 'too much'. How am I supposed to contact my friends in the school holidays?
• I'm the only 'young person' in Altrincham & Sale CLP. It'd be great if I could write letters to other young activists up&down the country, like penpals
  
• Ugh!  Black-pudding, beetroot & mushy peas for tea, followed by rhubarb pie. Old fashioned English cooking, so boring. Wish we could have more lasagne and moussaka, like posh restaurants in Hale

You can see the aggregated efforts of others by clicking on #1984Tweet

* Back in 1984, my spelling was perfect. Then along came computers**
** I had actually used computers before then, but I didn't use them regularly until the 1990s

September 87 Part 4

I was pretty busy yesterday. I dumped my photos to be printed, then I walked along to the pub. There were people waiting outside, for the doors were shut, despite it being gone half eleven. I rang the bell and Harold - landlord came to the door. He shooed the hoping customers away and let me in. Until one o'clock, I was washing new, lined glasses and loading the old ones into the boxes, then I went downstairs to help colleagues in the Cellar Bar. There were new pumps and a new till. The pumps were brilliant - we barely spilled a drop, I even managed to pull decent pints of Toby on a consistent basis. The tills are great too. they're a bit slow at the moment while we dither around the keyboard, but I'm sure they're going to be a lot quicker when we get used to them.

I was supposed to be on again at eight o'clock, so I arrived soon after half past seven, surprised to see the doors shut! So I rang the doorbell, and P. answered the door. "Been washing glasses?" I asked cheerfully.

"Are you working?" she asked curiously. she had spent the last two hours reading a paper, and brewing up for the beer pump fitting. P2 and Mike arrived, so we played I-Spy. We managed to open at about eight o'clock, and things didn't go too badly.

September 87 Part 3

Well, what can I say. How can I sum up today? I think that I wrote yesterday that I was planning to go to the Cliff. And, go to the Cliff I did. Mind you, I took a bit of time getting there. I got off the Buzy Bee in Ashton Village to change my money at the Bank. I caught another one and caught the train at Sale Station. Because I was going the The Cliff, I got off at Old Trafford.

I caught the 54 round through Ordsall and Pendleton, that oh so familiar route, and getting off on Cromwell Road Bridge. I toddled down Lower Broughton Road, with that oh so familiar feeling of excitement mixed with nerves, plus the feeling that I'm completely daft, and it's about time I grew out of it, yet knowing that the place has so much magnetism that it will be an awful long time before I do grow out of it.

When I got there I had a good look wound: it didn't take long to realise that the lads might well be at Littleton Road. I checked with Billy W, he said yes they were; they'd be back at about twelve. that wasn't long to go, so I sat on the wall and waited, and sure enough, soon they arrived, all of them in about five cars. when I first see them, I just feast my eyes and calm my nerves. I was able to say hello to Gary Walsh, but decided to leave the rest until they came out. One young lad having been standing by the door went running over to his mates exclaiming "I've spoken to Jesper Olsen." I joined the crowd outside the door. Brian McClair was the first player out. He seemed to get away very quickly - I do hope it's because he had another engagement rather than the fact that he's just eager to get away. He looked very delicious and trendy - his shoes were the give-away: lovely black suede nicely pointed shoes, and snow-washed jeans. He seemed quiet, but he might have been in a hurry, or he might be unused to the Cliff ritual. I'll give him until Christmas until I judge him.

Paul McGrath was the next one out. He is so lovely he is. he is just absolutely really friendly and whenever he sees me, he always asks me how I am. He is definitely, as well as being the best player at Manchester United, the most friendly, and judging from what I've gathered on brief meetings, the Manchester United player with the most pleasant personality.

I can't remember the order in which the lads came out after that, so I will go through them in alphabetical order I've omitted a few players who were only really fringe players and never properly made it

Arthur Albiston came out very early and didn't seem prepared to hang around. Much as I admire Arthur as a player and much as I respect the fact that he's been at United half his life. I wonder why he always seems so irritated at the fans. I wonder if he's always been like that , or has fifteen years of seeing fans, undoubtedly every day, rather made him sick of us all.

Viv Anderson didn't seem keen on hanging around either, in fact he was rushing out so quickly that I had to take a few rapid steps back to take his photograph.

Clayton Blackmore came out very late, indeed it was after two o'clock - I waited that long especially for him. He was almost in his car by the time I grabbed him. I can't for the life of me remember what he was wearing, but he looked absolutely gorgeous, really tanned. I managed to get a kiss out of him.

I missed Peter Davenport because I was too busy with Brian McClair. I'm not sure if I'm annoyed or not. Peter, I have found, is a really good laugh, but perhaps if he was in a hurry he might not have had time for the jokes.

Mike Duxbury is not the most sweet-tempered person, but I managed to get a photo. To be honest, I can't think of anything to say to him, cos he's a boring sod.

Colin Gibson didn't appear to be there, mind you I saw him last week in Altrincham. I had just come out of M&S wearing my Reds on Tour t-shirt when I saw a man smiling at me. I looked a bit closer - it was Colin Gibson. that was the second time I've seen him in almost the same spot - when I was in Upper Sixth I once saw him going into Mothercare with wife and children.

Billy Garton came out at the same time as Clayton. I chased him to his car, a red Cabriolet, because I thought he was going to drive off before I could grab him. I took his photo.

Graeme Hogg was there, looking absolutely lovely. He's not perfectly good looking, in the way that Clayt is, but he's highly attractive. He was looking very tanned, and as (nearly) always he was dressed smartly yet casually. He had a deep turquoise top tucked into his jeans. He always dresses in a way that makes me think he is pernickity I told him he had better not be going to City because I know a lot of people would be upset. He seemed very dismissive of that; then somebody asked him whether it was true he had failed a medical for City. He said it was crap. To be honest, I think out of all the United players, he's the one I'd most like to get to know - I get a feeling that he's quite deep.

Kevin Moran is a nice bloke, the oldest player at the club. I think if I could think of anything to say I could have a really decent chat with him, but I couldn't think of anything to say to him. Besides that, he came out reasonably early, when there were still quite a lot of people about, so I couldn't really detain him to talk about nothing.

Remi Moses came out pretty late. I got quite a lot of words out of him. I said it was great to see him back in the team; he said it was about time too. I asked him how it was going; he said it was going great. Although he said a fair amount, it was still more than easy to see that he's still fundamentally very shy. Mind you, it's nice to see such a skilled player who's far from being big-headed.

Jesper Olsen seems to be getting more accustomed to the habits of The Cliff. His first season he was dreadful - I called him Elusive Olsen, but now, he's prepared to walk a few yards into the group of assembled fans and even exchanged a few words.

Bryan Robson came out pretty late. Not as late as Clayt, but still late. Prior to him emerging from the building, he had walked up and down the stairs a few times in just his shirt and underpants. Well, me and these girls, Michelle, five days older than me, and her fourteen year old sister Debbie from Benchill and Debbie's friend Lindsey from Brooklands, well we were going wild just seeing him. Then he came out, and he was in a really good mood. Debbie asked him to sign his autograph once to Debbie and once to nobody. So he said, "That's a funny name" really witty like. As I say, he just seemed to be in a good mood; he waved to us as he left, mind you, there was only me and these three girls, plus one bloke and one lad.

Gordon Strachan only paused long enough for me to take a photo. Shame really, because he's a nice bloke. Perhaps he was in a hurry. He can be a good laugh, too. I tell you he's one of the best buys that Ron Atkinson made - three years ago I predicted he'll be one of the favourites of the fans - and that was after only one game. After three years, I don't argue with that - he's an ace player.

I had a bit of a chat with Gary Walsh. He seems a good sight more confident than when I last met him. I was telling him that he was the first Manchester United player to be younger than me, and he was trying to make out he was twenty one going on twenty two. He's got a really pleasant. He's bloody tall - I had to crane my neck to talk to him. Mind you he's only 6'1½" according tot he Handbook - perhaps he seemed taller because he was in footy boots.

Norman Whiteside was obviously in a silly mood, although he didn't seem to want to linger. However, I asked him if I could take a photo and he pulled a really silly smile, more of a grin really. What I noticed both this time and the two times I was there at Easter that Norm no longer seems to mind the . When I went in 84/5 he seemed to object to people adoring him, but he's grown up a bit since then.

All in all it was a very good day. I had a really exciting and enjoyable.

I returned to Old Trafford and caught a train into town. I bought a dressing gown from M&S. If it lasts as long as my old one, I will be well pleased it lasted until 1995, when I decided to replace it on moving house

September 1987 Part 2

Part 1 was published some time ago

I've got a day off tomorrow! It will be my first day off for a fortnight, and if I wake up in time I am going to go to The Cliff. Mind you, knowing me, I probably won't, or knowing my luck, if I do go, They won't be there.

I'm well made up in some ways. I got a pay slip on Thursday, for my first week's work, and my statement this morning (my quarterly statement was sent here!) confirmed that it had indeed gone in. This week I will receive the large amount from the week that I worked loads.

I'm also made up in another way. C laid me off on Friday. While I've enjoyed working for her, and I think I've definitely learnt a lot, I don't feel bitter that I've finished. In fact, the three times I went last week, I didn't look forward to it, and couldn't wait for the three hours to finish. I don't like the idea of getting up so early in the morning - I think the pub job means that ideally my body clock wants to follow its own pattern, which doesn't include getting out of bed at half past eight. financially speaking, I might miss the money from cleaning, but if it means that I can do more at the pub, and I do it better, I can't complain.

Because I got paid on Thursday, I did a bit of shopping in Altrincham on Friday. I bought a denim jacket from Western Jeans. It only cost £20. At that price I couldn't resist it - and it's dead trendy. I had been looking for a black one, this one is grey - it will go better with my blue jeans than a black one would (bizarrely, Jimmy recently discovered this jacket at the back of the cupboard-under-the stairs. It happens to have male buttons, and it fits him, so it's now his!).

The only thing that's annoyed me since I last wrote this was in regards to footy. Firstly, despite trying to swap with everyone I could think of, I had to work Saturday lunchtime, which of course meant I couldn't go to Old Trafford in the afternoon. And then to add insult to injury, I get home to learn that the wallies were drawing two-two with Newcastle, and that was the final score. Yes, Newcastle United, the team we really slaughter at home usually. Mirandinha scored for Newcastle, and needless to say, grabbed all the headlines, while really, it should have been Brian McClair - apparently he had three good chances, and although he DID score, it was only from the spot (Jesper Olsen had scored the first).

I worked again in the evening, it was alright really, I enjoyed it, and I have to admit, there is more to life than Manchester United. Mind you it still hurts to have missed that game, but to make sure I don't miss the Spurs game, I've booked that Saturday lunchtime off - and I'm DETERMINED to go.

Sunday was alright. The lunchtime session is a nice one, just long enough and busy enough. then the evening was good. I caught the bus into Altrincham, and the train to Sale. It was a Pacer, the Chester trains are always Pacers on Sundays. Having done that, I was able to avoid going to Church, which was great.

The evening session was good fun. Ken the bloke from Tesco was desperately trying to get me to go out with him. Roth, who I don't like - I find him one of the most vulgar men I have ever met - was most offended that I refused to go out with him. Well, if there's one thing I do retain, it's my dignity! However, other men, well. there I was just doing my work, behind the bar, as one does, when I noticed C - H&J's son - I've noticed him before; probably the most I've noticed him for prior to last night is the fact that he is the father of the twelve week old baby. But I just l looked at him last night, and thought. Wow, that guy oozes sex appeal. Nothing I couldn't handle, indeed he disappeared after half an hour. Nothing to lose sleep about. Indeed today he was in the bar when we were clearing away and I was conscious of the fact that he'd turned me on last night rather than the fact that he is completely and utterly sexy.

September 1982

A few extracts.

We went to a restaurant to celebrate my sister's 18th birthday, restaurant visits being rarities indeed. The service was excellent ie 9/10 although I'm no expert.

I played football with (my brother - then aged seven). We were drawing 6-6 but he handled outside the area, so I sent him off, but he showed dissent, so I booked him.

I went to the bus stop. I was just standing there, bored out of me mind, when this car stopped dead near me (because of the traffic queue). Imagine my surprise when I should see Gary Bailey

I went to bed with Dave Ward (A Piccadilly Radio disc-jockey). On the Flashline, there was a call from Walton Road "Susan and Jackie, Lisa, and Terry spotted flashing from Frances" Believe me, you had to be there...

I went to the doctors and sat in the waiting room for 20 minutes, so I read a Cosmopolitan Magazine. It had a feature on morning sex, which was quite interesting.

Next was French with Mrs K. she nattered on in French, and to be honest, I did not understand much.

At lunch I messed around with (friends). Sarah. also hung around, looking quite disapproving (footnote added two years later 'Not really like our Sarah!' - who turned out eventually to be a really good laugh)

In the double English lesson we read Wuthering Heights. I was the very first reader - by the way Sarah made AT LEAST three slips.

In Double Maths we studied straight lines. I seemed particularly thick.

In History, we discussed Russia in the 1860s. Mrs P is not as boring as everybody makes out (with a 1988-added footnote 'Just more so!')

In choir we sang 'Music Where Sweet Voices Die', which I adore, and 'Autumn' which is growing on me, even though Miss F reads 'p' as plonk and 'delicato' as elephant-like.

Instead of French was choir. From 1223 until 1330 we belted out O Praise the Lord, but at first, I DON'T think that Mrs B was too amused by our feeble effort. So together, she and Miss F.coaxed us into an enthusiastic chorus, and scolded the 1sts and 2nds something terrible. But the 16 3rds were paid ever so many compliments. Afterwards we went out on the Broadwalk  (school playground, in effect), and messed around. I'm ever so slightly nauseated with C. and M. Sometimes I wonder whether the word 'quietly' is incorporated in their collective vocabulary. Goodness, don't I sound a bitch!

After lunch was Maths. It was unbelievably hot in the classroom (newly built, on the cheap, badly designed). I was literally poring with sweat, and no way was I alone. Those windows open so WIDE of course! Mrs N. and all the group looked like beetroots, and the aforementioned teacher of Maths did not bat an eyelid when I tugged down my tie, and undid my top button (we had previously had a relationship which involved her repeatedly sending me to the Deputy Head's Office for wearing make-up, which of course just encouraged me more to wear make-up to school).

Talking of batting eyelids, I suddenly realised in English today what makes S. appear so snooty. Her natural blinking action is very slow, and this makes her look disdainful, which I presume is usually far from the truth.

At lunch I went to choir (Bach) with Miss F. She was really awful, and the thirds were the only people who were praised - and that was grudgingly. It's a very badly balanced choir. the seconds consist of five fifth years, two L6  and twenty-to-thirty second years with their baby voices and obvious lack of effort.

In RE Miss C  made me stand outside the classroom for laughing when she told me off for not turning up to Mass last week.

After break we had a full length orchestra and choir practice. I was so embarrassed doing the cymbals etc.

I caught the 263 and thought all the way into Manchester, with my eyes lighting up while passing a certain football stadium between Trafford House and Jubilee House.

I met K. and M. coming from Deansgate. We walked down to the Arndale, and back up to Peter Street. Eventually we were allowed into the Free Trade Hall, and when C. arrived, I gave her her present and card. Eventually Speech Day practice began. It was so boring.

I got ready to go out, and then went out to Speech Night. Every traffic light turned to red before our eyes. Speech day started. I went onto the platform and searched all round for the triangle beater. Me, Sally. and Mrs. B. were panicking like hell, and a second-year noticed it under the side-drum. The orchestral pieces went okay. I only made one mistake. My style is really improving, and I managed the change from side-drum to cymbals in exactly the right length of time. Choir was okay, I suppose. Then we had to sit through the boring speeches, and the not-quite-so boring prize giving. Oh god, Loreto Speech nights could warrant a very long blogpost in themself...

I watched the Late Late Breakfast Show. The video of Friend or Foe was shown...and then Adam Ant was interviewed!

In History we did the reign of Alexander III. Honest to bloody God, that P. woman is so boring.

In Cookery, Mrs M. was in a right foul mood, because out of the whole class, Katie. was the only person who had done the homework satisfactorily. We then had a test - I got 20½ on 30, which was fairly average.

In Maths we went through our homework. Despite the continual revision of differentiating, I do NOT understand it. which is interesting,because I grew to adore differential calculus and would happily carry out calculus problems for the sheer fun of them, seriously

At lunch I went to choir. We sang Praise the Lord by Haydn (German National Anthem). It is RATHER nice!

In RE we did yet more from Mark's Gospel. I am bored sick of Mark's Gospel.

On the stroke of half time Mr Brilliant Bryan Robson scored a goal! And now Valencia have to score two!

In the second half Valencia scored two goals. At first I was upset, but by the end of the eleven o'clock news, I was almost pleased. After all, we don't need our players hacked down in the European Competition - we want them saved for more important domestic games. Nor do we want our players booked for retaliation against the blatant fouls in the way that Norman Whiteside and Ashley Grimes were.

Daddy chauffeured me to Alty Station where I met up with my lovely friends. Later !, * and & arrived, and we all travelled together by train to Oxford Road. Then we walked down Oxford Road to the Free Trade Hall, and found our seats in the balcony for Beethoven's Missa Solemnis. It was an excellent performance - I think I liked the Gloria best. Mind you, I was not too impressed with the technique of the timpanist. His rolls are rather poor. Nope, I don't know who the soloists were, indeed it has come as a surprise to me that I have ever heard it live. I assume it was Hallé Choir and Orchestra. It won't have been BBC Northern Symphony Orchestra (as was) because I knew their timpanists personally)

The diary for this month contains passing references to me reading Lucky Jim, Sons and Lovers, and The Drivers Seat, but no mention of whether I enjoyed them, or any reflection on the content.

If you enjoyed this, you might enjoy October 1982

The Old Diaries Return...

Earlier in the life of this blog, I spent some time typing up my 'old diaries' from the 80s. I did not do it specifically for the blog - sometime in the late 90s I thought it would be a splendid idea to digitise them. Not especially for archival purposes - paper has served archives well for hundreds of years - but because I imagined myself writing a best-selling novel based upon them.

That paragraph may actually sum up my entire life and personality. An obsession with archiving, an ability of genius proportions to imagine me successful, a disability of equally gargantuan proportions to put in the effort actually to achieve anything that approaches success, and a short attention span that means started projects rarely get finished.

But less of me, what about the 'old me'. Or the Young Me. The 1982 me. Fourteen years old, and just about to go into "Fourth Year", when various Boring Subjects are dropped in order to concentrate on O-Level Subjects. We had to do English Language (A), English Literature (A), Maths (A), French (A), Religious Studies (A) and PE (non-examined). In addition I did History (A), Music (A), Latin (B) and Home Economics: Cookery (B). Remember these were proper O-Levels. I additionally did Italian (C) in Sixth Form.

I spent a great deal of time writing diaries. At this stage they were written on paper salvaged from redundant exercise books from the previous school year. There are pages and pages of turgid detail; detail of celebrity birthdays, what was Number One in previous years, who I caught the bus with, what we did in lessons subject by subject, detailed chronology of football matches listened to on the radio. Very little of life and me. Very few anecdotes that capture the essence of being in 4P in 1982, no character sketches, few funny incidents, and a decided reluctance to do teenage angst. I have no doubt where the last omission comes from - an overwhelming awareness that what I wrote at 14 would come back to haunt when I became Prime Minister. I knew then that I had to deny my weaknesses for future electoral advantage. Not for nothing is my middle name 'Margaret'. Besides, in the spirit of Crossmann, Castle and Benn, my diaries were a narrative on the 'times' rather than the 'life'.

I am sure that my blog-readers don't need to know how many times I had toast and marmalade for breakfast.

But in following posts I will extract what seem to me to be the most interesting passages from 1982, 1987, 1992, 1997 (to the extent that it exists) and by the wonders of technology, I shall pull up the blog highlights from 2002.

Teenage diaries

When I was thirteen I kept a diary. Well, actually, I kept a diary from the age of eleven until well into my twenties, and then intermittently until - great irony here - I got a computer, when I was thirty.

I've just been flicking through my diary from November 1981, when I dutifully recorded that I was thirteen and three quarters. I kid you not - absolute proof that the whole Adrian Mole thing was stolen from me. (Note to self, must get round to reading the Weapons of Mass Destruction)

Amongst other comments in my diary were the following

I went to orchestra practice. The only thing I played in was the occasional Handel oratorio.

I think I meant Handel's Occasional Oratorio, rather than, what I suggested, we played many different ones in one reherasal and I just played in a few...

A few pages later I wrote

I watched Nationwide. Placido Domingo was on! He has made a record with John Denver.

Only one exclamation mark...? Bit of a part time fan, I think.

What the Sun said...

asks Scaryduck

...I really can't remember, because I was boycotting Murdoch newspapers at the time, so couldn't bring myself to buy a copy for the archives. Various copies were pinned up on the JCR door, in the bar - a Willobite and an ex-Willobite being slagged off in a Sun editorial! Didn't happen every day in Willoughby Hall. In fact, it only happened once in my entire time at Nott'm.

It was something about "irresponsibility" and how, unlike those Nottingham University students, Mr Powell was in favour of free speech. They also accused us of setting off the fire alarms as well as shouting; it's only just occurred to me that, as well as not being true, it was logistically unfeasible.

It was a big day on campus. Perhaps the biggest ever. But, rather than try to rely on memory of half a lifetime ago, I have gone back to the Paper Diary of the time. November 1986

Me in November 1986

For a few days I was very famous, and  for the remainder of my University career I had a residual fame, and did not need to prove my credentials - which was not altogether a good thing...

And yet, the next week, it was the great Willoughby Food Poisoning and your intrepid Campus Reporter was reduced to phoning the Health Centre to determine how many had been kept in overnight.

March 1991

I was twenty-three

Preamble from Tuesday 26 Feb): Stef went into the room of one of the Senior Auditors, who dropped something on the floor (like he had a guilty conscience) & Stef couldn't help noticing what it was - a glossy magazine with pictures of fleshy women - absolutely no doubt that it was a girlie mag. And would you believe who the man in question was - it was Rob. I was really quite shocked when she told me, & so were the other people she told - Nikki, Gaby, Ruth and Helen. I mean, of all the people - if it was almost anyone else, but Robbie Reverend. Dreadful.

Another day. I really don't know how I managed to get through it. I had so little work to do - but I managed to pad it out. I was sitting in my room when Pat walked in, & wanted to know what had been going on Tuesday when he walked into the big room and Nikki and I fell about laughing. We had actually talking about Rob and the magazine, & had been commenting on the fact that if it had been Pat it wouldn't have been so bad, because he's so open about it anyway. Anyway, Pat wanted to know what we had been saying, so I said that we had just been talking about people in general. He then went on to say that maybe he was putting two and two together and making eight, but he knew that there was a story going round about Rob that was completely untrue and unfair.

And then at lunchtime, Gaby asked me about this, having been told by Stef, who was told by me. Gaby said that she and Pat have fallen out, because she brought the subject up with him, thinking that he had been the supplier, something that he denied, and proceeded to say that if we prevent somebody reading that sort of stuff in the office, it's a form of sexual harrassment. All I can say to that is, would Pat also say that if somebody or somebodies decided to bonk, if somebody objected would that also count as sexual harrassment.

At lunchtime we had a serious drinking session in the Aristocrat. Very pleasant - left the office at quarter past twelve, and it was nearly quarter past two when we returned to the office. I managed to survive until half past four, when I decided to call it a day, & went home.

I watched this morning's Westminster - most of it concentrating on the Gulf, but also talk about the economy, and speculation on a June election, but I would put my money on an October election, although, I also take the view that John Major and Chris Patten might be forced to call a June election - especially seeing as though the media will now have nothing to report on. I'm just trying to remember what sort of things used to make headlines before the Gulf crisis, and it's occasional interruptions such as a change of Prime Minister, an assassination attempt thereupon, and the snow and bomb attacks attempting to make British Rail even more awful. It shall be interesting.

I am now watching What The Papers Say, some wanker from the Sun talking about the 100 hours ground war. Would you believe it but Jean Rook in the Daily Mail has announced that Stormin' Norman Schwartzkopf is an international sex symbol, & how are the women of the world going to surrender him back to Mrs S.

Feeling really tired, I phoned Lucy up to say that I couldn't make it today & I have spent most of the day lazing around, reading the paper mainly. United have Webb, Bruce, Robins, Robson & Phelan injured; Darren Ferguson made his full debut, and Ryan Giggs is sub. They lost two-nil at home to Everton.

I watched the BBC Main News. Hint of a return to normality - they had a film report on both the Ribble Valley byelection, & ritual sex abuse in the Orkneys.

Coalition generals have met with Iraqui generals in the desert. Meanwhile Iran radio (remember Iran? It used to be a pariah state) has reported anti-Saddam protests in three cities, including Basra, Iraq's second city while there are rumours of a Moslem revolution. How long does he have?

Local audits begin again. Mixed feelings - was I or wasn't I looking forward to our visit to Felixstowe. Quite excited at the thought of actually having something to do, but could I cope with the stress of local audit work, and the inconvenience of being off base. Ally called for me at about ten to eight - I was far from ready, but there again, he had stipulated eight o'clock.

The journey to Felixstowe was far from exciting, but it was reasonable. We called off at Ipswich station, ostensibly to pick Mark up, but he didn't get off the train due in at half past nine, & the next was due in at half past ten, which was the time that we had said that we would be at Custom House, so we went off to Felixstowe. I was well impressed by Custom House: a spanking new building, opened, I thimk, in 1987. It is mainly glass & is in a shape reminiscent of a ship. It would look horrendous and arty farty in a town, but on the edge of a Dock Yard, it looked pretty good.

We went inside, & proceeded to spend the next two hours with the Assistant Collectors, two of them. I couldn't help feeling really that Mark (when he arrived) & I were surplus to requirements, it was really Ally, and, when he arrived, Roy from the Reading section who were asking all the important questions.

After lunch we went for a drive round the docks which was pretty good - seems to tbe the best bit of the audit - not very taxing at all. I was quite surprised to see quite how large Felixstowe Docks are - bigger than Liverpool or even Immingham - and just so full - like loads of ships and millions of containers.

We returned to the room in which we were based, & I spent the remainder of the afternoon reading through things. Then we went to the hotel - a little guest house more or less in the centre of Felixstowe. Mind you, having said that, it's not difficult to be in the centre of Felixstowe - it makes Douglas look exciting!

After an hour or so sorting oneself out - actually the room is pretty good. Not en suite, but there is a washbasin - always a good thing - we went out. Our first port of call was a pub called The Grosvenor just across the road from the Guest House. Unfortunately I was unable to drink due to the tablets that I am taking right now. We then went on to an Indian restaurant for a curry & then back to the pub, before heading back to the hotel.

And then I went to bed. Not realy a great deal to say about the day. Just another local audit. I'm pretty demotivated if the truth be told - I don't know the reason why, but I would suspect it's due to the fact that I'm only too aware that I might be moving off pretty soon - obviously it would be nice to know at some stage what lies in store for my future.

Another day on the audit. What is there to say really? No particular highlights of the day, although the evening was a little more exciting. We spent quite a long time in the pub before eating. We had a really decent conversation on a pretty good subject - starting off with the Battle of Agincourt, moving onto the relative merits of Heny VIII & Elizabeth I, and working through to 1688, the so called 'Glorious' Revolution, & whether it would be possible to have a Catholic Prime Minister.

We then hit the town & decided to go to a Greek restaurant - which was rather nice, I have to say. And the best thing was that there was a really dishy Greek waiter. He was absolutely gorgeous, and it was fun to ogle him for the duration of the evening - much to the amusement of the guys. It struck me as quite funny to have got all the way to Felixstowe and fallen in lust with a Greek waiter: obviously, I was fully aware that the minute I walked out of that restaurant I walked out of his life. And no doubt, every evening some woman goes into that restaurant, and falls for him. But as I say, it was fun. It was also quite amusing the way Ally was winding me up about reeling from the lips of the owner, an older man (60ish), who gave me a kiss on the cheek, into the arms of the young waiter who was holding out my coat, & according to Ally, I was hoping for a kiss from him (am I that transparent?)! After the meal we returned to the pub and talked about football.

February 1990

I was doing my Graduate Conversion Course on Block Release from my first proper job which I had had for four months)

As it happened, I only really spent two hours there (at college), one in the computer suite correcting the error that I had discovered on Tuesday evening. Then I went to the Economics tutorial - that was good; we talked about money. Then was lunchtime, another good larf.

After lunch I left - well, why not, all it was this afternoon was QT (Quantitative Techniques, from which I was exempt, having done Statistics at University, but even when exempt the exam, we were *supposed* to attend the lecture. BTW, the lecturer was the cousin of Aung San Suu Kyi, so we all knew about Burma long before it was news generally).

So I got the train to Victoria. I then decided I wanted to buy a couple of records. I tried Our Price on the station, and another record shop on Victoria Place, but neither sell Vinyl Discs. I eventually found Our Price on Victoria Street and managed to get the two albums I wanted - Street Fighting Years by Simple Minds, and Raintown by Deacon Blue, as well as some blank cassettes.

I then got the Underground and the train to Westcliff. It was really wonderful to have a hassle free journey - would you believe that it's the first time since last Tuesday that I got a train from Fenchurch Street and got home approximately an hour later. When I got home there was one message-less message on my machine. I thought it might be Helen 1, because she said that she would phone on Thursday afternoon. So I called her, but she said that she hadn't phoned. She said that she would call back when she had finished what she was doing. So she did and we nattered for ages. I also spoke briefly to Tim (with whom she was having a Platonic - she said - affair, despite being elsewhere engaged) , who sounds really nice.

When I had finished chatting with Helen, I watched Neighbours. Mrs Mangel got married. I was going to watch Home and Away, but the telephone rang - it was Grum phoning from work. We nattered for an hour - he had phoned during the day but found that I wasn't in. He had tried at work but nobody was in. We ended up chatting for an hour, which was good.

I discovered that I had overcorrected my mistake in the computer project, so that depressed me. I know I won't have time to correct the mistake and that is depressing. Because you see, it's yet another example of leaving things to the last minute and therefore doing it less than perfectly, and again, I'm failing to meet my potential.

Quite a good day . The plan didn't quite go to plan. The idea was to get up at about half seven to listen to my new albums, but of course I didn't. Nevertheless, I still had time to iron my shirt, and pack a few things for the weekend, and I managed to get a ticket before boarding the 0917 train. Theoretically that should get me to Croydon college on time - well, for eleven o'clock which was time today. But of course I didn't. At Victoria I just missed the 1036 East Grinstead train, so had to wait until 1047 Horsham train, which proceeded to stop at Balham for some unexplained reason and arrive late at East Croydon.

But I didn't miss anything I couldn't catch up on in Economics & after that we went to lunch. We were saying, á la timetable for next week, isn't it a shame that we have an optional Financial Accounting Tutorial at midday on Tuesday. Oh heck, we'll just have to miss that in order to create a two hour lunch break. Helen 2 got a phone call from Phil last night. He still can't make up his mind & she's decided that she really can't be bothered to be hanging around and waiting. She's going to see him next weekend, but mainly in order to do an impression of Pickfords Removal & in order to claim the money he owes her.

After lunch I caught the train from East Croydon to Victoria. I then got a Victoria Line train to Euston. Oh my god, that line is dreadful - I keep getting it on Friday afternoons, & it keeps being absolutely jam packed with very little ventilation. I was wondering whether I would get to Euston in time for the three o'clock train, or whether I would have to hang around for the four o'clock. Well, I just managed to get the three o'clock train although I didn't stand a hope in hell's chance of a smoking seat. So I got a seat in a non-smoker and bobbed up every now again for a cigarette. I spent the time listening to music and reading Cosmopolitan, as well as scribbling down some thoughts for the novel. When I got to Piccadilly I happened to get off right by the escalator to the bridge, and didn't have long to wait for a train to Sale.

When I got home I spent most of the time listening to Mother prat on about things. She didn't really say a great deal of import, but I sort of listened. I also learnt that the ANC has been unbanned in South Africa, which is really quite amazing, perhaps a result of what has happened in Eastern Europe & all of this is down to Gorbachev.

Derby Day

Well I laid in most of the morning. After lunch I tuned into Piccadilly. It's the second half now, incidentally in the Rugby England have won in Paris. But I really can't control this any longer - it sounds beautiful the singing, even on the radio, you can hear it coming through "And it's Man United, Man United FC, we're by far the greatest team the world has ever seen." Once again, I'm deifying Clayton Blackmore.

But City equalised. So United don't rise in the table. But at least we're outside the relegation zone. Most matches in the South were called off because of torrential rain; yet it was dry in Manchester.

At about four o'clock - or perhaps earlier - I decided that I wouldn't return to Essex this evening, but, instead, leave it until tomorrow. I had tried to reserve a seat over the phone yesterday, but you have to do it person. So it was so windy today that I really couldn't be bothered to go out to Timperley Station to do it. And then I got totally turned off by the idea of the usual Sunday rush for seats. So I begged Mother to let me stay another evening - she didn't seem to mind, so I spent the rest of the evening reading the Guinness Book of Hit Singles and watching a bit of TV eg Mastermind.

A pretty good day with everything going to plan - except my inability to get out of bed. But I did eventually. I had a quick look at the Guardian - well, the football bit. That was quite cheering. They reckon that Charlton Athletic are more or less doomed for the drop, and Luton Town have lost their ability to win even on their plastic pitch and without away fans (and I don't think anybody will be sorry to see them go down), so, in reality there's only one relegation place left. A major test of that will be Millwall v Manchester United on Saturday (3rd and 4th from bottom). I guess if one team wins, it's curtains for the other and that's quite heavy. I guess I'll just have to wait and see. Of course I didn't quite understand at the time but just four weeks earlier I had been there when Mark Robins' goal at Nottingham Forest had signalled the start of, well, everything...!

I caught the bus to Altrincham, from where I got a train to Piccadilly. I arrived there at twenty five to one, a fifty minute journey into Manchester. I caught the one o'clock train to London - comfortably. And it was comfortable. I had two seats, and half a table to myself. I read the Independent and finished AJP Taylor's History of World War One while listening to my boogie box.

Would you believe it but the train actually arrived at Euston six minutes early. From there the journey home was almost hassle free - I guess you can't expect everything in one day - so guess what - the escalator at Bank-Monument wasn't working. Sometimes I wonder whether it would be better to walk to Euston Square and get the Circle Line from there. But the journey from Fenchurch Street was good - I got the four o'clock train which only stops at Barking, Basildon, Benfleet, Leigh and Chalkwell before Westcliff, so that was pleasant. And then there was a gorgeous sunset over Chalkwell - a red sky illuminating the mudflats at low tide - I really wished that I had had my camera.

And when I got home I opened my post, the most interesting being a card and letter from Lisa. I also checked my answerphone. To my delight I had three messages. Two were from Helen, and the middle one from Justin expressing disgust that I have an answerphone.

My twenty second birthday!

A day that started badly but got progressively better. Would you believe it but I found it difficult getting out of bed on my birthday - is that a sign of old age - or is it simply a sign of living on my own. The post came, but the only thing I got was an urgent message from Britannia saying that one album I ordered was out of stock. So that was a brilliant start to the day.

Then the train journey was a bit shambolic. Well, it was okay but I had to fork out for a new travelcard, which has gone up in price to £42.40, & then the train came so I didn't have time to get a newspaper - but no problem - I read Adrian Mole on the train.

Party like it's 1988

I thought I would bring you my diariy from December 1988. And I have actually sat here and typed out the first entry - Lisa's Twenty-First party,

But I decided not to publish it.

It is really, really bad. I mean really bad. I was twenty, almost twenty one. You would have thought that by then I would have got over teen angst.

Ha! Think again.

Suffice to say that in reading (and typing) it I was cringing with embarrassment. I actually am no obligation to publish my account of that debacle.

The sad thing is that obsessive compulsive behaviour repeated all through my twenties.

And thirties, too,

November 1987 Part 1

Yup, they're back... and between now and Christmas I shall post every couple of days or so - I might even get through to the end of the 1980s and into the 1990s - who knows. I was 19 and in my second year at Uni.

After lunch I worked pretty solidly on my Stats. When I had complete brainache I went into Helen’s room. Edwin came by and suggested we went over to see Dave Be. We did indeed, and we also saw Tony, Marianne and Roland because they’re all living in a Beeston Flat along with Deneze. I was quite impressed, actually, they have it looking really nice.

After tea, I worked some more, and also copied up the minutes of the Anti-Racism meeting to hand in at the General Office. When that was done I went out with Helen. We first went to Cavendish because I wanted some ciggies but they didn’t have any. We then went onto Lenton. Helen had received a phonecall saying that Robert had phoned, but she doesn’t know any Roberts, so she thought it must be Rupert. But Rupert was away for the weekend, so it couldn’t have been him. This left her completely perplexed. However, I went to the bar to see if they had any ciggies, but they had no change.

Well, we were going over to Cripps anyway, so, I eventually managed to get some from there. Then we went to I Block…and James was in! Well, actually he was asleep, but he said he wanted waking. We stayed for two hours, and had a really good time. Well, I had a thoroughly good time, and Helen said she enjoyed herself. At first I felt a little ill at ease, but I soon relaxed

Martin P arrived and after pleasantries he asked me whether I wanted to join the Tory Party. I decided to call his bluff and be a devil. So I was literally plied with stickers, leaflets, but most importantly my NUCA handbook and YC membership card. I had a fascinating time chatting with the pair of them; in fact we found it very hard to get away, but arriving back on ‘C’ floor, I created considerable laughter by producing my YC card.

Return of the Paper Blog...

September 1987, part 1

After Neighbours Matth and I went out to Old Trafford mainly to visit the United museum. It was brilliant - it was a pound for him to get in, I got in free, being a member. It isn't tremendously big, but in these three or four rooms lies a plethora of treasures.

Some were priceless, others were almost as much, some were completely unique, such as the Manchester Cup, frequently played for, and occasionally won by Newton Heath, or the Manchester International Trophy, won the other week, others were far from unique, but added a considerable amount to the interest: various players' International caps from the early days through to Lou Macari's; international shirts; United kits through the ages.

There was a whole case devoted to Bobby Charlton - one just had to get on one's knees (otherwise it was difficult to read the labels!). It was brilliant - everything from a plaque he got as a schoolboy international to his cap for the World Cup, and various loyalty awards, and European Footballer of the Year award.

There was, inevitably, a display about Munich - yes it brought tears to my eyes, reading the facsimiles of the newspapers, and seeing the various things like Duncan Edwards contract, and a set of china bowls brought back (apparently intact) from Belgrade, as well as effects belonging to Eddie Colman, Mark Jones etc.

It was an incredible display - it would be hard to explain to anybody who thinks that Manchester United is just a football team, exactly what that museum means. The vibes, the whole feeling there, it was superb. We sat around watching a video of the goals of 1985/6 season. Then we went into the Souvenir Shop, which was super. I bought Matth a patch to sew on his rucksack. I bought myself a mug (it's Kilncraft - won't last for long), a tee-shirt, and photos of Brian McClair, Bryan Robson and Gary Walsh. I felt daft asking for a 'big Brian McClair' etc. But I've got them - and onto my wall they will go!

Gee wow! Talk about hectic! I rolled out of bed yesterday morning just in time for Neighbours, which managed to wake me up. Having had a good laugh, I was able to roll out of the house, and off to work via the bank. I had a pleasant enough lunchtime, working pretty hard, but not over-working, and I don't think I made any mistakes nor displeased too many customers. I think I'm well made out for bar work. I'm really getting into the new pumps, I can handle most things - just the odd thing of specific policy about the pub. I hope to be such a good bartender in Willoughby that I get onto the big nights or even onto a Hall Party, and a nice little earner.

I'm really enjoying the pub; it's a nice crowd of people that I work with, the punters are alright, some are very friendly, few are unfriendly, and most are amiable enough. I'm treated with a nice mixture of acceptance that I'm equal with the rest, mixed with the fact that I'm one of the youngest in the pub, that's not unpleasant.

Yesterday evening, I was chatting to Colin, the landlord's son. He's bar-man in the players lounge at Old Trafford, he's United daft, and he's great to talk to - typical Manc: "I know Manchester United players" type of thing. He said Norman Whiteside will be in tonight - but this is my night off. Having done two sessions yesterday (I was pretty tired by midnight, could barely stand up at the bus stop and fell asleep the moment I hit the pillow), and lunch today, I am very tired but not unpleasantly so.

May 1986 - finishing school

Altrincham have won the FA Trophy, beating Runcorn. Yeah!

Today has been a strange mixture of satisfying and unsatisfying. Satisfying because I have done a very reasonable amount of work; I have done both sorts of Maths; a large amount of learning Prime Minister and Cabinet; and when I have written this I will do some Italian. It has been satisfying because I have ticks for the £5000 prize on the Supamatch a Manchester Evening News scratchcard – therefore I need four more ticks with nearly sixty days of it to come. Satisfying because my Stats is going in: I need to make sure I don’t make careless mistakes; satisfying because I really believe I am absorbing my govt.

Why isn’t it satisfying. Well, I have stuffed my face with grub; because my Pure Maths is impossible. Oh yeah, Alex phoned this lunchtime , he wanted to know what happened on Thursday – “too busy at school” he suggested before I had time to say anything. Obviously he’s keen; I haven’t the guts to say I’m not interested; at least I got my message over that I’m working hard for A-Levels. But now I’m all depressed because I do like him, but I really do not think that I could handle a relationship like that; it’s too intense.

I’m beginning to feel a little bit more confident about my A-Levels. A little bit.

What is the point of staying off school with the aim of working when you end up having your working time constantly interrupted by the parents. I think they reckon I’m here for a holiday; don’t they realise that my A-Levels start in two days.

May 1986 - Local Elections, Party and Aftermath

Trafford Council, having been under *safe* Tory control for its entire history (like Altrincham and Sale councils before it), looked like it might be a Labour gain. The ward in which I lived was - and is - a key marginal. We had two seats being contested - one on the normal cyclical one third rule and one in a by-election caused by a Tory resignation

Confused - you will be...Well, I was. It's them pesky men, you see...

I am combining the two days, and I might as well say now that there is no way I can deny that I have written it all on the 9th May because the 8th was probably the most exciting day of my life – and that of plenty of other people.
It started rather unexcitedly – I had a lie in, and the news was, well, the most significant item was the fact Manny Shinwell has died; sad that, but he’s had a good innings – 101 years 7 months; and when you think about it, we could get a sympathy vote.

I did some Maths; then I went out to church, because it is in fact Ascension Day. Then I met John, and somebody I was later to learn was Dave. I asked what I could do, so I was told I would be picked up later. On the way home, I, together with the parents, went to vote. Paul was there collecting numbers, together with a Tory bid who I later learnt was Mary Codger (not her real name), one of the Tory candidates.

After lunch, John called round, together with Dave2. There were loads of people at the “Committee Room” – including Alex, and Fran. I had a good natter with Fran. At one stage I was sitting on Alex's knee, due to alack of chairs. People left, others arrived.

I went off to sit in Broadheath school to collect numbers. I spent about three quarters of an hour with a youngmiddle aged Tory, an ex-pupil of Loreto. She was bearable, although we agreed not to discuss politics. Having said that, I commented on how bright all the pictures were on the wall; she pointed out that it covered the cracks. I nearly pointed out why the walls had cracks; but we weren’t discussing politics.

What a laugh!

My November 1987 diary is seriously hilarious. Take this

Paul F came up to me, straight out of Stats Tutorial. He said that Dr S is most interested in who I am and would love to meet me. I checked that he wasn't going to seriously beat me up.

But there's also loads about me as seriously Loony Lefty Political hack...

And December 1987

Oh why the hell can't I handle my emotions. Especially over somebody who is an arrogant, self-adoring, humourless Tory. And in thirty or forty years time, I'll read this, when I'm Prime Minister, and James is Leader of the Opposition, and I'll wonder. No, I have this dream that when we are in those positions it is marvelled often in the Press that although we occupy totally opposite ends of the Political spectrum, we get on so well, until, of course, someone points out that we had a wild passionate affair at Nottingham

Hmm, I think if the PM and LofO, who are a mere thirteen months difference in age, happened to have been at the same University, the Press would probably have started quite early on by asking whether they knew each at the other at the time.

And, oh flip, a picture of us together is still on my back room wall. I so have to revamp those photo frames...

May 1986 - Part 1

Eighteen years old, with exams looming, but still naive about non-celebrity men. Virtual Brownie Point to whomever guesses the celebrity man on whose rhetoric I now think I subconsciously modelled my written style

I have decided to take today off, a very arrogant attitude, you might say, with public exams so close at hand. But, I think it's the right attitude, because all my teachers are away today, so I am off school. Apart from reading the paper, I did two hours work in the morning, far more than I would have done at school, you can be sure, and after lunch I ironed my summer clothes.

I watched a programme, a schools programme, History File, about Keir Hardie. It was quite interesting, not particularly profound, but I learnt a great deal about him that I didn't know before. I then got back to work, and I reckon that I have done about six hours work today. Apart from the fact that I did the work, it's really nice to know it's possible.

In the evening I went canvassing on the Wimpey. There were six of us out - John and Jim, obviously (the candidates in the local election, which, in our ward, consisted of the normal cyclical electionand a byelection), Alex and I who went round together, and two people from Hale and Bowdon, Jill and Guy. It was fun - I love canvassing.

The weather has been beautiful today, although at about half past five the storm clouds gathered in, and it went very dark, and at about quarter to six there was light rain, but the skies are visibly lightening now.

Well, there's news on the telly now, fallout from Chernobyl has reached Britain - there's no danger they say. It remains to be seen.

I had my Maths session at lunchtime (I was put on lunchtime detention for repeatedly skiving Maths lessons, oh the humiliation and mortification at age eighteen...!), and I still managed to be home soon after half past two. I have done about two hours working, quite reasonable I would say. And I don't have to worry about skyving General Studies next week, for we have a Pure mock.

While I was waiting for the Dangerous Brothers (John and Jim the candidates), I couldn't decide whether to listen to Jim Hancock's political programme, I didn't, then as I approached John's car, I half registered that the radio was on, then it took me about half a minute to realise that Neil was on - talking about Trafford council!

I went out canvassing, round the Poco. It was reasonable, some real Tories, some I would say dyed-in-the-wool Alliance - can you be dyed in the wool Alliance. But there were a couple of supporters, one man and his wife had been considering joining. I gave him John's phone number and suggested I asked John to call on him. He said it wasn't so convenient this evening because his parents were up from South Wales, but he'd contact John. I hope he does. I would like to think I was catalytic in recruiting two new members. Also, if we could get a couple of activists, or even semi-activists, it could be useful for the branch Labour Party.

I went round with Alex. He's a nice bloke, amusing and serious. We had quite a chat walking round and then we sat in the car chatting about life, sex etc - quite an open, frank conversation. I think he fancies me - I know that sounds daft - but he is making fairly physical advances. He is very anxious to give me a lift, and the thing is, I know that John realises this, but John wouldn't say anything. And it's life isn't it. The married man I fancy, I wouldn't dream of making advances to, meanwhile a cohabiting bloke fancies me - and I like him tremendously - but I don't fancy him, there isn't that sort of chemistry.

The last week of May 1985

I was seventeen

On the news they said that Kevin Moran is to get his medal. The FA Challenge Cup Committee met today and decided that the shame, humiliation, embarrassment and suspension were punishment enough.

We were naturally very pleased and full of celebrating today that Kev’s getting his medal.

I phoned Louise’s mother to find out how Lou is, so she gave me the hospital number (it’s a BUPA private one) only it was engaged, so I presumed Andrea was on the line. I tried Louise again – and got through. It was nice to hear from her again. It’s amazing how more attractive friends seem after a few days apart. She’s feeling fairly okay, apart from the pain but as I pointed out it’s better to have the pain of an operation now than risk the appendix starting up and grumbling in twelve months time.

Most people would think that the sort of day we have passed has been boring. But the point is, it is not so much what you do, but who you pass your time with and in what mood you are. When you have messed around all day with Andrea, Andi, Angela and Sandi, you can’t help feeling cheerful. We have laughed, played the fool, and generally had the maddest of conversations

Today started well enough – indeed, come to think of it has continued in much the same vein, only I've just played my Ant ‘A’ sides, and realised that it is four years ago tomorrow that I bought Stand and Deliver. Four years ago – my youth has vanished in a cloud of smoke. Mind you, those Ant records are class – no wonder I was so mad on them as a child! Because, obviously, at seventeen I was old and grown up...

I did some Euro History revision: quite an achievement don’t you think, considering I hate the subject! I spent most of the day knitting.

I caught the bus to Stretford and walked up Edge Lane. I spent the whole afternoon with Grandad and Auntie June. We had a good laugh, first of all struggling with a Z-Bed that they bought yesterday, because Tony’s (Aunite June's son, so therefore I suppose my step uncle) coming to stay for a couple of nights. Then we chatted for ages. We looked at photos, including one of Grandad at the age of about two, and one of my great-grandfather when he was a farrier with the Royal Field Artillery in WW1.

After tea I caught the 41 to Holly Royde College. The lecture was about voting patterns and voting behaviour. Nothing, really, that one didn’t know already. Amazing how you can wait forty minutes for a bus that comes every thirty minutes.

I walked into Sale. It was a gorgeous day – I felt hot with just my pink blouse on I assume I was also wearing a skirt or shorts or somesuch..., there was not a cloud in the sky, and it was so nice that people even smiled at you. I went into Tescos to do loads of food shopping. It was great. I adore shopping. Part of the fun of cooking is the shopping – even when it does make your arms drop off.

On the way home I noticed that Mrs J ex next door neighbour - her ex-husband still lives there was chatting to Mrs M who's still around, aged 102, so I waved and she came over to chat. She’s looking healthier, she’s lost weight, doesn’t look so harrassed, and no longer smells. She’s very cheerful and is living in Hawick (or Horwich- I can’t read my own writing) – she’s just home to collect her things and that.

1985 Cup Final

and one or two other things besides...

Cup Final Day. Ten pages in the diary, as opposed to the general average of about two...And I'm going to reproduce every single word here...(No, I'm not...).

I'm growing in excitement. This increased during Abide With Me and the National Anthem. Then the match kicked off.

The first half was more tense than exciting, with too many stoppages. Robbo was booked, Gray should have been. Peter Reid had one chance, cleared off the post by John Gidman. Nothing for United.

The second half was another matter altogether. It looked like being a really good match of football. There was a bit niggly, but there were a few good incidents. Norman almost scored, only the brilliance of Southall stopped him. Next talking was a pretty crude tackle – foul – by Kevin Ratcliffe on Frankie Stapleton. He should have been booked. Then Andy Gray was booked, which was justice enacted.

The next incident – probably the biggest talking point, undoubtedly the most controversial event. Peter Reid was going forward, and had managed to get himself into a reasonable scoring position. So Kevin Moran flung himself at Reid. It was a pretty crude – dreadfully uncharacteristic – foul, deserving of a booking…no doubt about that. But it was not deserving of anything worse. So I was shellshocked when the referee pointed to the tunnel.

All hell broke out, Kevin refused to go, and all the United players – and some of the Everton players – were protesting. But to no avail, Kevin was off. He was in tears: I never thought that I would live to see the day that Kevin Moran cried. Not that I blame him, though – I was in tears as well, and I also bit a gaping hole in my scarf. A few months later, I recounted this to Kevin and he laughed...I wouldn’t have minded if it had been a really dreadful hacking down (like Willie Young on Clive Allen in 1980) but it wasn’t. One thing that did cross my mind was that Peter Willis the referee was the same fella who sent Andy May off from Maine Road against Oldham for no particular reason.

Obviously, with Kev off the pitch, and sitting very, very dejected on the bench, United had to reorganise. Strangely enough, United went from strength to strength. Or perhaps not so strangely. A team of internationals, such as United were, a team of thorough…and determined professionals, are going to be stronger than to allow unjust decimation upset them. They were beauty to watch, and Arthur Albiston – of all people – nearly scored a winner.

Extra time began. What a half hour. In every department United totally outclassed Everton. Ten minutes from the end Norman – super Norman – ‘Gripper’ they call him, got the ball on the right, and floated it over in the direction of the goal. Even Neville Southall could do nothing about it, it was such a pin point accurately curling shot…what a way to score in the FA Cup Final! All was needed was to hang on for ten minutes, probably the longest ten minutes of the season, undoubtedly the longest ten minutes of the match.

Finally, the whistle blew…and the happiest fella at Wembley had to be Kevin Moran. The tears forgotten, he had a big grin on his face, and he and Ron Atkinson were hugging each other. It wasn’t until Bryan Robson collected the cup -–the Football Association Challenge Cup – that it began to sink in…it is now ten minutes to eight, and I cannot appreciate it yet. Everybody was marvellous in their own way.

Two and a half pages of detailed player-by-player analysis.

After Piccadilly Sport finished I went out to the garden, needing to work off my surplus energy and excitement.

I watched the news. ITV had a different camera angle…I have never seen a tackle so obviously ball winning. So it was with horror that I learnt that FA Rules say that a sent off player does not get a medal.

I don’t think I have read so many papers on one day. On the way to mass I bought the People and the Mirror and th Express. Pauline got a Mail.

The People describes Kevin as callous. How could anybody describe Kevin Moran as callous. As I was saying to Judy – it’s just not Kevin. He hasn’t even been booked this season, he has never before been sent off in his life, and I don’t believe he’s in the least bit malicious. Judy’s quite philosophic about it – like me, she feels that Norm’s goal more than made up for it.

I went down with Matth to the corner of Woodhouse Lane and Washway Road. Honest to god, there were more people there than 1979 and 1983 put together. There were crowds deep, I saw everyone I know: I’m sure most people came down to see the Cup – I mean there were people there like (next door neighbours), and loads of other city fans. We stood around for ages, every car that went past got a cheer, especially if there were United fans in them. Then the drama began. The traffic lights were switched off, a helicopter hovered overhead, and along came a glare of headlights. Along came a cavalcade of motorbikes – police motorbikes good old outriders. Behind them…the open top bus – the familiar open top bus. What a round of applause they got, City fans running down the middle of the road on each other’s shoulders, United singing “We love you Whiteside, love you, we love you Whiteside, love you, we love you Whiteside…” more applause, waving of scarves, cheers – and there they were! In a few seconds they were gone. But it was enough to see the lads – imprinted on my mind are Jesper, Paul, Hoggy, and Sparky . There could have been others, I don’t recall, but I will never forget Strachy, Dux…and the Cup. They nearly dropped it on me!

May 1985 Part 2

I got three books from the library - Briggs' Age of Improvement; Hearder's Europe in the C19th, and Marx and Engels' Communist Maniesto.

Piccadilly Sport was nearly all City, but who cares. There's a forty five thousand crowd at Maine Road, not bad for a Second Division game - not bad for a first division, come to think of it. There's a second half commentary on City, who are leading 5-0. I said at half past two that if City go up, United will win the Cup.

Going up, going up, going up. Denis Tueart is having difficulty getting his words out...but reckons there's still time for City to throw away a five goal lead. I wish I had gone now, I was thinking of doing so, but couldn't be bothered.

I turned off the radio and on the telly, to see all the City fans on the pitch. United won at QPR.

I listened to Piccadilly Sport - and also Radio Two and Manchester, it's nearly all City. It's true after all - Billy McNeill is superhuman - he was on both Piccadilly and Manchester at the same time.

I watched the News. A stand caught fire at Bradford, killing at least forty people. It would have been worse if there was a fence...it's now got me worrying about Old Trafford.

I watched Match of the Day. There was no music, and Jimmy Hill wore a black tie.

I mowed half the lawn, then Matth took over so that I could change my bed and that while listening to Kid Jensen. I decided to lean out of the bedroom window and hurl abuse at Matth down in the garden. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the sunlight catch the edge of a car. Instinctively, I glanced over in the direction of the car. I just happened to notice it was outside Paul McGrath's house, and it looked like a silver Sierra. "I wonder if that's Kev's?" I asked myself. Then, "No, don't be an idiot." Eventually I went out to Church and as I rounded the corner, I noted that it was Kevin's. "Aha," thinks I "just wait til I see Judy tomorrow." On my way home I noticed that he had gone.

Over tea, the family got chatting. Mummy was asking if Ollie had been keeping me up to date on the latest prices the touts are asking for Cup Final tickets. I replied that I hadn't really been speaking to Ollie, and I added that no doubt he'd be full of the baptism. So Mummy asked me who was being baptised. I said Paul McGrath's son. Pauline said it had seemed fairly quiet outside his house as she went past. She then added that she had seen a fella walking down the drive in leather trousers, and presumed he must have been a United footballer.

"Well," I said, "Kevin Moran's car was parked outside."

"Was that the silver one?" asked Pauline. I said yes and she said that he had got into it. Meanwhile, Mummy, Daddy, and Matth were kind-of semi-amazed at the way nothing escapes the notice of Pauline and me!

May 1985 Part 1

Lower Sixth and the living is easy. Or, Seventeen, not yet a woman...

Before school I had a nice long chat with Esther about the Second World War and Vietnam War. She agrees that all the news reports are really interesting, and that the next week is going to be very interesting indeed.

I spent most of lunch time walking round Altrincham looking for shops that sell black and white film for my camera. The only possible shop is Photo World (just near the new Sainsburys) - only, being a Wednesday, it's shut.

Mrs Bm told me I wasn't needed in orchestra so I went home to watch Romania v England. The final score was 0-0. Maybe not wonderful, but considering it's away, it does a hell of a lot more for England and Northern Ireland than it does Romania.

I spent all the time from six o'clock to eight o'clock doing - and finishing - both Stats and Pure homework while listening to Bruno Brookes and Mozart. I had a break to see an AJP Taylor discourse on the Paris Peace Conference. What he was saying was interesting, but his delivery style is hesitant, intellectual and wordy-mixy-up. Did you know that Harold Nicholson describes going into Woodrow Wilson's flat in Paris, and seeing great men crawling around the floor discovering cities and areas unknown to them, which they duly distributed to various states.

I did some Govt homework, helped by the wonderful Andy Crane.

I then watched a fascinating programme made in the 1960s called Leningrad, a City at War, about the seige of Leningrad that lasted for 900 days. Throughout the winter of 1941/2, the worst for 100 years, the citizens of Leningrad survived on three times below starvation level, electricity for an hour a day. It was very moving to see the strength of will against adversity; a fine example of the better aspects of Communism was the level of organisation and the acceptance of dreadful conditions - the only way to prevent a Nazi take over of the city uninvaded since the days of Peter the Great.

Do you realise that I have had seven - yes, seven - free lessons today. Both Mrs Mc and Mrs Pe were at Ironbridge.

I went to Stats (it was quite novel having a lesson) and then with the library being so crowded, Sam P and I went to the Common Room, only that was pretty crowded too. So we just chatted to Katie and Iyla.

After lunch Louise and I went to the library, but decided to find a quiet corner to work. Instead we just chatted and messed around. After school, we had Italian.

Today has been okay, in fact I have really enjoyed today. Not once have I felt frustrated about the relationship between work to do and the time to do it in, nor about the relationship between things wanted to buy and the money with which to buy it. Nor, come to think of it, am I the least bit concerned about my relationship with Andrea. We haven't made up yet, we will only make up if I make the first move, and as I won't do that, it's up to her to make the first move. Both of us may be as stubborn as hell, but if she doesn't do anything by the end of next week, it will prove to me that I mean nothing to her, and that will make me even happier than I am now, which isn't bad, because I'm pretty happy now, having spent most of the freetime today with Andi and Sandi. Andrea and I had fallen out - the day after Steve Davis lost the World Final to Dennis Taylor, she arrived at school when I was reading the Sports pages and assumed I was doing it as a wind-up

I watched 'Berlin - The Doomed City'. It wasn't as moving as Leningrad, but interesting.

I got up early and I went out to town. I returned my book to Central Library. I went to the Hallé Ticket Office and chatted to an old lady because the queue was really long. I queued for three quarters of an hour, because it is members first day booking for the Proms.

I tidied my bedroom while listening to Dave Ward. Andy 'Crazy Legs' Crane was also on. United won at Norwich.

I watched the scoring of the Eurovision Song Contest. You wouldn't believe it, but Norway (you know - Norge null points) won. Mind you, after having said that, if you bear in mind that handicap of being in the Eurovision Song Contest, it's not a bad song "Let it swing let it rock and roll, let it swing let your feelings take control."

The news was all about Reagan's trip to Belsen, and to the Bitberg SS cemetery, which has caused worldwide controversy.

I played Dominoes with Matth, and we also looked at slides. I then phoned Andre, and said I was sorry. Being Andrea, she just said "It's okay" and seems prepared to let the matter rest. It's great to have good friends. I suggested that she came to Old Trafford, but her bedroom tidying is of pressing urgency - she's turned it into a total mess in order to tidy it. Mind you, she wouldn't really get the full satisfaction because I heard on the radio that Mark Hughes is out of the game with a groin strain. Andre claims she knows all about that.

Late May 1984

the calm before the storm - of O-Levels...

Miss C arrived late for RE because her car wouldn’t start, and as she was pushing it, it started going off down the drive, with her holding onto it for dear life, and it ended up on the other side of the A56. She got a lot of help from various people – her neighbour helped her reverse it out of the brick wall. Then she got a lift on the Lymn Grammar School bus as far as Lymn Grammar playground. Another bus driver delivered her to school. She arrived in the classroom, and we gave her coffee to revive her, and we sat there drinking some ourselves. We had a very lazy lesson.

We didn’t bother going to choir at lunchtime, instead we sat around talking sex.
We ha
d Hymn Practice this morning, malheureusement. We sang God Gives His People Strength, and God Be With You ‘Til We Meet Again, because today was U6’s last day. tradition...

Once home I did ¾ hours French, had tea, and then worked continually from 1740 – 1910 on English, French, Latin, and a little History. After Coronation Street I did a bit more French and some Music.

This hard studying has left me mentally and physically exhausted. Emotionally, it has had two effects upon me – firstly to give me a great deal of confidence in my ability to settle and work, and secondly a blue funk about my inability to get the stuff done in time. I have this vision of my DS and French exams, twelve days and sixteen days in the future, taking on an almost human role, becoming personified, stepping out, fast approaching, always advancing in my direction, increasing in size. Jeez, j’ai eu peur.

I went to bed very depressed.

May 1984 Part 2

Much of the diary in the middle of May is taken up with details of what I was revising for my O Levels - Ovid's At The Races here, a Hardy Beeny Cliff there, proteins here, and Arnold's Scottish Dances there. Fascinating stuff. Not

I am absolutely knackered, and I suppose I should write this; mind you it's quarter to ten! The day has gone pretty badly. I was doing my DS practical, and it turned out pretty crap. Oh well, I am beyond caring at the moment.

I made Hungarian Goulash, which was okay, rice, which was not too bad, sweetcorn, which was perfect (yeah), lumpy pineapple marshmallow flop (alias pineapple meringue pie), and burnt Bourbon biscuits. After school I walked to Alty to get a pork pie and chips and go to the library. Back at school, I played some stuff on a piano, and eventually went for my French oral. It was middling. I got my worst 'b' questions. For my topic, I got La Musique, which is better than Mon Education but not as groady as Les Sports.

Football Focus were featuring heavily on the retirement today of Kevin Keegan, Trevor Brooking, Eddie Gray and Billy Bonds - it's the passing of an era. Another passing era, tho' I have no regrets whatsoever, is the retirement of Clive Thomas.

On the Piccadilly Six O'Clock News I heard that Lou Macari's Testimonial against Celtic ended one-all. Apparently, there was a fabulous atmosphere. God, I wish I had been there!

After tea Mother and I went out to town for the Hallé. All the way between Stretford and town we saw loads of fellas and quite a few girls milling around. I couldn't tell, whether they were Celtic or United fans, because they were wearing a mixture of red and green. It seemed really ace.

The Dream of Gerontius (Elgar) was pretty ace. James Loughran conducted the Hallé Choir and Orchestra, with soloists Maldwyn Davies (who has a gorgeous voice), Bernadette Greevy, and Rodney MaCann. In places the music was really powerful. In the interval, I saw Esther's parents, and loads of people from Lower 6.

Everyone's been full of themselves. Judy, Andrea and Louise were going mad about last night's snooker match. John Parrott won 10-9, but it was really good apparently. They met both the fellas, and think John's really nice. They all kissed Stevie.

In French, Mrs K said two people had got La Musique, and had done very well. I was full of disbelief.

I had a quick chat with Katie O'T. She went to the match yesterday, and was in at the scoreboard end with all her Glaswegian relations. She says the atmosphere was great, and the match was really good.

Mrs Mo said that no one had failed their DS practical, which was a relief to me, because I had this dread that I would be the first in the History of the school.

The day has been eventful, fun, and, well to quote the expression Andre says I use a lot, it's been really ace. Both Andrea and I have been in filthy moods, and spent the whole day reading rude remarks into everything people say.
RE was really ace - we did the whole of the RE syllabus. Lunchtime was really ace - I went to choir and sang 'Somewhere' from West Side Story, and Scarborough Fair.

After school, I went round to a chap on xxxxxx Crescent to join the Labour Party.

On the radio I heard the Treasurer of my ward Labour Party, who I visited yesterday!

United lost two nil. I do not honestly believe we have even managed to clinch second place - I have to study a League table. It's the culmination of a disastrous end to the season. I worked out that if our last ten matches were an exact yardstick of the whole season, we would have been relegated, and if the last five or six, I think it is, were, we would have done worse than Wolves.

I went out to Choral Society. It was pretty good. We did the Kyrie and Dona Nobis Pacem from the Haydn (Theresiene Mass)- they will both sound really nice when properly rehearsed. Martin was there. I did not feel any flicker of any emotional flame whatsoever. (However, most of my March and April diaries had been filled with...Martin, Martin, Martin... )

My god, I've written a load of this, haven't I? I suppose when I am feeling literally inspired, I have not the mental energy, nor indeed the time, inclination or the appreciation of worth.

But, Gert, my love, ten lines is pretty abysmal. You did more in First Year.

May 1984 - Part 1

Aged 16, O-Level exams (what we used to do at 16 before GCSEs were introduced) were looming - indeed the practicals were under way...

New headteacher today - Sr. E.

We have been given no set homework, but while, last year, I would have taken that as an opportunity to mess around, I realise that it is taken as read that we revise. I listened to the chart (what a pain Duran Duran - The Reflex - being number one).

Aviva came in saying that her parents got a letter from Miss R this morning regretting to have to tell them that her daughter was flaunting her scribbled on blouse in Alty on the last day of term (on the last day before Easter about half the fifth year invited people to autograph their winter blouses - we had different ones for Summer and for Sixth Form)

I watched the Conservative Party Political Broadcast. They used Framingham Road as an example to compare life under Labour and Tory rule in Manchester and Trafford. This is fame for Sale - appearing in the same PPB as Gum Gum...but we weren't named. Shame.

Mrs N was back in Maths, so we had to work. Music was pretty ghastly. We did aural and sight singing (the two greatest Achilles heels of my entire O-Level portfolio)

I didn't have much of a lunchtime, because at half past one I had to go for the DS Prep Sheet. Of course, Andrea Ba, Trisha, Anne Marie D and myself got the horrible assignment - a choice of preparing a three course evening meal in a caravan with only one oven and two boiling rings. The other alternative was three different uses of sauces in cookery. Ugh. I don't think I did too well, but considering how horrible the assignment was, and the amount of pressure, I don't think I did too badly.

I watched TOTP. The Human League sang The Lebanon. This is a fabulous song but would you credit it - Phil Oakey: yes, asexual Phil Oakey has grown a beard. You would hardly recognise him save for the voice.

I watched telly for the rest of the evening, which has made me feel really guilty. I burnt some old prepsheets (I am on the road to destruction!)

I went out, much against my will to Church, and then after tea I played my recorder.

I'm feeling depressed. Ray Wilkins is definitely leaving United for AC Milan. I watched Football Focus, which was congratulating Liverpool on being simply perfect.

I went out by car with Math to Old Trafford. It was a very scrappy match, yet all along there was a feeling that Manchester United were the slightly better team. Indeed, if chances were anything, we would have won, but we are such crap finishers it is unbelievable. (Mark Hughes scored but Ipswich won).

I was feeling really depressed walking down Warwick Road, until I heard on a fella's radio that Jimmy White had fought back to eleven-thirteen. That really chuffed me up.

But Steve Davis won 18-16.

Today has been normal - well, if you can describe the world in general, and Andrea and Louise in particular, going mad about the snooker, as normal. And then, of course, we had the French reading exercise. God knows how I did.

Today hasn't been too bad - and I say that despite having had the Music Aural exam today: indeed, I might even say it is a contributory factor to my general elation: I probably did the best aural I ever did. The only rubbings out I made were for neatness in the rhythm, and I think I did my major melody more or less okay. I probably got about half of my minor melody. I got a really good chord choice for my harmony. My sight singing was atrocious, though.

Latin was cancelled due to the Debate. It was not a bad debate although it was not as controversial as last year's. 5G (Tara and Louise F) beat 3J (Kate B and Phillippa C).

May 1983 (Part Deux)

Fifteen, hormonal, prize beeyitch. And man mad...

In English we went over Macbeth (preparation for Literature exam). Clare, Shaunagh and I spent the whole time arguing with Miss D. about the usefulness of doing Shakespeare.
At lunch, Siobhain, twat that she is, wrote on the shoes of Judy, Andrea and myself - in non washable felt pen. Any other time I could have stood it, but not today, day of the concert.
We went past Multi-Broadcast, and Steve smiled at us. We then decided to go in and talk to him, but he escaped to the back, cos his friends were teasing him.
I listened to the chart. It's great to see the United record in.
We went out to school for the concert. As usual, it was a fair mixture of talent. The orchestra, who, as usual, started, were not. I feel I played well in the Radetzky - by the time we DC al fine, I got quite carried away. From then on, I was downhill. I was very mixed in the Grieg. Although both times I had a crescendo-decrescendo roll, I think I did very well. I missed quite a bit in the Joplin Peacherine Rag, and when I did play, I was convinced I was on the beat instead of off as I should have been, but Andrea later assured me that I was okay.
Loads of descriptions of how various soloists performed
After the interval, during which Marie Judy's housekeeper said I was needed on the drums at Wembley, it was time for the choir to sing. I had the misfortune to be next to Josiane, who has a really good voice and is a second (ie mezzo; I sang alto). Thankfully, Judy, Andrea J and Margie were behind me. Mind you, the fool that I am, having sung through Head's Little Ships of Arcady, Brahms's I Heard the Harp's Majestic Sound and Freeman's Of All The Brave Birds, I had a total mental blank over the words of Here's a Health to All Good Lasses (Anon).
I was surprised that tradition had been broken- usually the choir end - and it seemed funny that we were finishing with a soloist. But Judy surpassed herself. She played Mendelsshon's Andante and Rondo Capriciosso, and I was totally captivated. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the audience on the edges of their seats. She was totally amazing. When she had finished this really spectacular piece, she was given a round of applause the likes of which I have never heard before at Loreto - particularly not at a musical evening. It was loud, enthusiastic and - long. In fact it was so long she had no choice but to play an encore - an allegro Barbero by Bartok.
As I was getting into the car, Mrs R said "I didn't know United fans could play music." I told her to shut up. If I had been quick, I should have pointed out Loreto's music would collapse without United fans.

Jane C announced that United are going to be on TOTP tomorrow. I am lividissima, really angry, upset, everything, sick - I wanna see them, desperately. But I shall be at Choral Society. I will have to control my passionate desires.
Today has been really boring, except for perhaps during DS, when we made fish and chips. I rather liked them, particularly the batter.
I though that History was going to be one of those lessons - Mrs Pe dictating notes (on the colonisation of Africa), saying England when she should have said Britain, explaining things in her petty way, all that lot from 4S mucking round etc, but thankfully, only the first lesson was like that. At 1500 we forwarded to the Audio Visual Room. Mrs Pe had just got the tape working, when the fire bell went. What the cause was, I don't know. There was a bonfire next door, with the smoke rising high, but rumours had it that it was due to a bomb scare (GMP even turned up). We were stood outside for half an hour. It's not really the best way to spend half an hour, but, there again, History with Mrs Pe is excruciatingly boring - I'd much prefer to have Mrs Mc.
When we walked past Multi-Broadcast, Steve gave me my own personal wave.

French was really really boring, so Clare and I chatted all the way through. Repercussions later!
Lunchtime was very mixed. Andrea, Judy and I were having our normal sort of conversation, when Clare and Magda came and joined us. Now, I have no objections whatsoever to Clare, but Magdalen D I cannot stand (I'm convinced Clare came over so as not to have endure Magda - she is sick to the molars of her). Then Clare went off for a piano lesson, leaving us with Magda. I could list all the people who can't stand, or have a certain dislike for, her, but I can't afford the paper, ink or time. My chief objection to her this lunch-time was her total lack of conversational etiquette. She kept interrupting our normally free-flowing uncomplicated discourse with inane comments of her own. I was trying to listen to Andrea talk about Tom, and Magdalen was trying to talk to me. Rather irritatedly, I said, "Please be quiet - I'm trying to listen to Andrea," and she retorted, "Be like that then." To my mind this signifies something - that she can't accept that perhaps I find Andrea's (and Judy's) life more interesting than her, and just because I don't know Tom personally, I don't want to hear about him. I have a hunch that she feels that because we're both in the same class, she partially owns me, and I'm just a hanger-on to Andre and Jude. Eventually, she took the hint that perhaps she was superfluous, and went off. I was pleased - I was finding it increasingly difficult to keep my calm. Bitch that I am, I let out, "Thank God for that." A little to my surprise, Andrea agreed, and totally shocking me, Judy agreed too. Unlike me, and to a lesser extent, Andrea, Jude doesn't make a habit of passing statements of dislike for people she knows (as opposed to some players of opposing teams and snooker players of the Alex Higgins persuasion). From then on, conversation improved.
At Registration I was entering the bottom corridor from the Crush Hall end, when I saw Mrs K coming. After a frightful glare she had directed to our corner during the French lesson, I had a good reason for thinking, "Here comes trouble." Surprise, surprise - I was right. She must have lectured me for a good five minutes, and I must admit I have never seen her so angry. But if she continues making a fool of me in front of the class, I won't co-operate with her.
I went up to the classroom, and Andrea Bu and I were teasing Juliette, saying, "Have you heard? Have you heard about United? Isn't it terrible?" and she was saying "Yes." So I goes up to her and says, "what is it you've heard?" She says it's very personal and secret, so, brain clicking over, I asked her which of the players she had met, and she says Bryan Robson. I asked her what he had told her, and she says it was personal between her and Bryan. After consultation with Andrea, I asked what would happen of she found out that she was pregnant, and she goes, in that stupid voice of hers, "Ooh, I'd have a little footballer." Twat.

Before Choral Society I was talking to Ria, and she suddenly revealed that a couple of months ago, she was in Stretford Sports Centre, when whom should she pass but Norman Whiteside. Needless to say, she sort of went weak at the knees and fainted in front of him, and asked him for his autograph, but with characteristic bad luck, her biro had run out. She dashed off to get another, and when she returned he was in the bar - drinking a lager (under age drinking!).

Choral Society was quite good. We spent half the time, unfortunately, with Fa. I had indigestion, and then my jaw began to ache. Afterwards, Sophie was playing The Entertainer, and Damian did this fabulous dance.
When I got home I learnt (sort of) to my relief that United, although supposed to be on TOTP, couldn't make it, so Brighton were on instead. Bloody southern bias.

I tried to learn my History on the bus but to no avail for some Ambrose lads spent the whole journey beep-beeping on some electronic game.

Steve was in Multi-Broadcast. We chatted to him for a bit.
Pages and pages of Radio coverage of the build up to the Cup Final
I planned to listen to Mark Radcliffe, but I was getting jittery, so I turned off, curled up, and started counting to a hundred. I must have fallen asleep quite quickly, for I don't recall starting to count in sevens.

11 sides in my diary - which usually covered two or three - written in red ink, which basically said that United drew 2-2 in the FA Cup Final with Brighton...
The match has just ended, and if it was not for Gary Bailey, Brighton would have won, for Michael Robinson beat both Kevin Moran and Gordon McQueen, and passed to Gordon Smith who was going to score, who SHOULD have scored ("Smith must score" is a famous football quote.) But Gary Bailey saved not only the most important save of his career, but perhaps one of the hardest.

I'm telling you man, I am mental and nervous wreck. I have been trembling all over, and my nails are in shreds. My hair is a mess, for having had my hands run through it, and I'm really gutted. At times, United so dominated the match, yet it was not to be their day. For once in my life, my words fail me. Yet it was such an entertaining match - possibly the best I have ever seen, and I really revelled in the enjoyment of the game - Ray Wilkins's goal was a goal of sheer class, a beautiful long ball, from the left end of the centre line to Ray on the right side of the penalty box, and a delightful chip, Brazilian style to put us in the lead.
When Mater, Pater and El Bratto went out to Mass, I phoned Judy, and we stayed on the blower for forty five minutes - until ma famille returned. Judy's very upset about Kevin's performance, upset about the rude remarks Marie was making all the way through, and not too happy about the scoreline.

I can only feel regret about the fact that there is a replay. After all, it does take place on Thursday - the day of Choral Society Rehearsal, and I have an inkling that while Mrs Bm might understand my reasons for not going, I'm not sure Daddy will - perhaps I can persuade Ria to video it.

After lunch I listened to a Piccadilly Special on United's homecoming, from Albert Square, they were broadcasting live. Then they said United were leaving Bowdon, so we pelted down Woodhouse Lane and waited for ages in the increasingly heavy rain. The puddles on Washway Road were quite something: every time I stepped out into the road, I got soaked (particularly my feet) but I couldn't care less, for I knew they were coming - I could see the helicopter (Granada TV) up above, and the traffic lights were switched off, the police were directing traffic. Then I stepped out, saw some headlights coming (obviously meant to be powerful). I shouted this out, so people knew they were coming.

The police motorbikes came leading the open top bus. The poor dears looked so wet. Kevin Moran was the first one I saw - he was right at the front. Also saw Norman Whiteside, Bryan Robson, who looked absolutely saturated, and Martin Buchan. We rushed home and switched on the telly to see them. It's wonderful to see them - they're all looking so wet. Ray Wilkins was saying that they're hoping that they won't all go down with pneumonia. Bryan Robson said he is colder and wetter than he's ever been in his life. Dave Ward kept appearing on the TV. Pauline actually saw Scott McGarvey on the bus, yet I missed him. Ee gods, he's gorgeous.
I went to bed with Dave Ward. Two of the prizes were a blow-up Ray Wilkins and a blow-up Frank Stapleton. When Neville was on the phone from the flashvan in Atherton he was winding Dave up about being on the telly, and Dave reckons he must be the only person who didn't see him on the telly.

When I got to school all the chat seemed to be about the Cup Final. Both Clare and Magda saw Scott yesterday, too, and I'm livid. In English we had a whole double lesson doing Macbeth. Clare and I decided that we are not going to bother - and don't give a toss how we do in the exam.

At Break I went over to L6 to tell Sarah H that I had decided to withdraw from the Election. Thankfully, she said she would tell Mrs Mc for me. That was something I was not looking forward to.
In History we got our tests back. I'm very pleased at 32 ½ out of 35, particularly considering that I did not learn it.

At lunchtime I went to the library to read the Sportspages in the Guardian and the Times. I don't know what happened to the Ayatollah school librarian, but Judy and I managed to chat all the way through without being reprimanded.

Andrea, Judy and I left Caroline and Maria at the top of George Street. We said, "If you see Bryan, keep him for us, won't you." You see, both Maria and Caroline fancy Bryan Robson like hell, and we're saying he has been seen in Alty. Maria says if she saw him, she'd just scream with pleasure.

Unfortunately we met Magda down in the Post Office. She was posting letters to Gary Bailey and Timmy Mallett. She insisted on walking down to Alty with us, and even into Multi-Broadcast. We (particularly Andre and I) had a lovely conversation with Steve. He's a United fan and enjoyed being paid for watching the final. Then I was admiring his badge, so he gave me one. It says "The Wrap Around Sound. Multi-Broadcast". I'm really chuffed. I caught the bus home with Magda. For once, she wasn't being too boring.

I watched a Royal Gala performance from the Royal Albert Hall marking the centenary of the Royal College of Music. The first piece was by Holst. It was weird and great. The second was Vaughan-Williams Serenade To music, which was beautiful. Next was Tippett's Ritual Dances, which I did not like. I think perhaps it was too heavy on the ponderous strings, and too light on any sense of direction.
After the interval was Arnold's Trumpet Concerto, the first performance. It's really nice - I like it. Then was Britten's Young Person's Guide to the Orchestra. It was fabulous - I love Benjamin Britten anyway. The final piece was Parry's I Was Glad, which was stupendous.

Mrs Pe tried to persuade me out of resigning my candidature, but I'm adamant. I'm NOT standing.

IN DS, Mrs Mo had a really enjoyable lesson bollocking us. She, in pointing out all the faults in our Wednesday's homework, used my work for every bad thing she could think of - and even at 3/10, my mark was not the worst.

In Music Mrs Bm said she had been watching the Cup Final and had been hoping for a few glum faces this afternoon.

In WH Smiths we saw Lisa and Justine. They were saying that they were sitting on Lisa's wall on Sunday, holding a banner saying , "Seagulls Shooting Day Begins Thursday," and Gordon McQueen gave them a funny look. Sandra was screaming like mad, and then Frank Stapleton gave her a funny look. They also Scott - I must be the only person who didn't.

In the second History lesson we had to move tables to the Crush Hall. It was quite funny coming back - Clare, Sandra and I decided to dawdle back to the History Room, so went along the Middle Corridor, and stood there waving to people on the Art Room balcony. Then we realised that Mrs Pe was in the History Room, so we pelted, so's she wouldn't see us.

I told Daddy that I am not going to Choral Society tomorrow night. He did not seem in the least bit surprised, indeed he said he expected it, so it was with renewed interest that I heard the FA Cup Final Replay line-up.

I listened to Weird Ward. Horizontal Smooch was Billy Fury's Forget It. Holiday Romance was No Woman, No Cry - Bob Marley.

Nine pages for Replay Day - in red ink, natch
When I got to school a notice reminded me that because today is Form 2 Retreats, we aren't allowed in our classrooms between 8.45 and 15.45, so we have to carry all our stuff round with us all day. It's bloody annoying. We COULD leave them in or on the cupboards in Room 3, where we are based, but that's an open invitation to those with light fingers. I'm loth to leave my tennis racquet, but I'm certainly not carting that around all over the place.

In Music Mrs Bm said "I presume you won't be coming to Choral Society this evening." She expects her soprano and alto sections to be somewhat light.

At lunchtime we were on the Broadwalk and had a right laugh. Kathy, Aviva, Magda etc were singing Glory Glory Man United, trying to attract my attention, but I ignored them. Then they were yelling Manchester United, Old Trafford, and so on, when a voice, coming down by St Ann's, announced, "Brighton" in such a matter of fact way, I was in convulsions. I turned around. It was Ria.

I had just recovered from that fit of giggles, when a tennis ball came flying along the Broadwalk, hit me on the finger and upset all the slush from my beaker, down inside my blouse. We were getting bored by the lack of laughs when Henneh asked us to mind her Mills and Boon book, and Andrea was about to read it out, when I suggested playing Sausage and Polony: after all, Mills and Boon are notorious for their monotony. It was really hilarious, particularly this waiter (early twenties, blond and tanned...) flashed his sausage at Marsha. After two and a half pages, Henneh returned to claim it, but in that time I had been totally unimpressed by the original script. We spent the rest of the lunch hour talking in sausage and polony.

After Latin we were telling Caroline about Gary Bailey going out with Miss UK, and Caroline, being obtuse, said, "I thought he was married." And she quite believed us when we said, oh yes, but that doesn't stop him going out with Miss UK. (Caroline is now a respected GP not many hundreds of yards from our old school...)
I walked down to Alty with Andrea and Judy. We were all in silly moods. It all started when Andrea said, "I asked her this morning how to spell 'commemorates' and all she said was 'What does that mean?' So I said, "Perhaps they don't do that in foreign countries". So Judy threatened either to get Kevin, and emigrate back to their 'foreign country', or else to get Kevin Moran, Frank Stapleton, Paul McGrath, Norman Whiteside and Ashley Grimes onto me. Andrea said we could leave Frank out of it, for she wanted him.

Later on, we were walking along, and Andrea offered me a Polo - "Be a devil, take one," she said. I said, "I'll be a Red Devil," but she said she'd prefer the real thing.

Bryan Robson has just scored a brilliant goal.
Norman Whiteside has scored.
Bryan Robson makes it 3-0, and not a bad goal, either.
Halftime. Pauline has just phoned Grandad, to share the euphoria of the Final. When Auntie June Grandad's second wife answered, she says, astounded, "Aren't you watching the football?"
Arnie Muhren has converted a penalty.

We have won the Cup! I am really really happy. To be totally honest, I can't believe it - perhaps by the time I get to school I will, but not before then. At the moment it's a bald empty fact, and now that it's purely election talk on the news, it seems very divorced from my life. It was truly magnificent to see the lads win the FA Cup in such style, and to see Bryan Robson lift that cup filled my heart with a profound happiness.

I was about to make Math's supper when the phone rang. Needless to say, it was Judy, sounding a little over the moon. I'm happy, she's happy, we're all happy, all of Manchester is happy. And if you don't believe that you ought to have been listening to Piccadilly. First of all Timmy announces his top three. Is number one Wham? No. Is it New Edition? No. It's Glory Glory Man United! Dave came on, and peering through his radio, noticed that all his UTBCers were looking colourful - you see, they were all wearing scarfs, hats and rosettes. Guess who was the first UTBCer to wear a Utd scarf - yours truly.

There were drunks going down the Lane yelling Glory Glory Man United rather off-key. I usually hate drunken marauders on the lane, but this time, I couldn't care less, I'm happy!

Even though FA Cup Final Replay day is over, nothing will stop me celebrating - therefore I am continuing to write in red pen.
I got to the bus stop and tied my scarf onto my bag. Magda arrived and copied me. At Grafton Mall, I bought a Star so she bought a Star (copycat).

At school it was brilliant. Everyone seems to have watched the match, even Mrs N, who regards Manchester United as awful (So why teach at a Manchester United-obsessed school!. Andrea's Mum has fallen in love with Alan Davies and Kathy's Mum, like millions of other people, has fallen in love with Kevin Moran. Of course the Bryan Robson, Gary Bailey and Norman Whiteside fans are prominent.
In history, people from 4S kept leaving the classroom to go to Sr. P. headmistress. There are two stories circulating round about why: one that they were all mucking around outside MacDonalds last night, are in real trouble for that (But I doubt it - they'd hardly all come out crying after spending practically the whole morning in there) and the other story is that they were all found in the bushes yesterday smoking, and there was a condom found with them. So you can imagine the uproar there was at such a crap school as ours.

At lunchtime we sat on the Broadwalk being canvassed by the Paradise Party, the Extra Sure Party and the Hard Core Lefty Punk Party. I do believe that the Paradise Party (Love Peace Joy) is gathering momentum.

At home I relaxed with a pot of cherry-orange yoghurt, a cup of coffee, the Manchester Evening News (FULL of pictures...) and the radio. Old Trafford has been broken into but the Cup is safe.

This morning I got a letter from Susanne. Her brother went down to Wembley, and was staying over the road from the United hotel. The fans were allowed in to meet the players. He took loads of photoes. Bryan Robson's Dad was so pissed he asked David to dance. Next morning, David went jogging with Lou Macari, and then he waved the coach off. When he was chatting to Bryan he mentioned that Susanne would be chuffed. So Robbo said, "Why, is she a United fan." "Yes, and a Bryan Robson fan." So Bryan said, "Send her all my love." So she's over the moon and floating round the room in ecstasy.

In the evening I watched Puccini's Manon Lescaut, starring Kiri Te Kanawa, Thomas Allen..and the absolutely gorgeous Plácido Domingo.

Bank Holiday. I got up at about half past ten, and went downstairs and then realised, that as mother was busy in the kitchen it would be rather difficult for me to do my toast, so I went back to bed, and hopefully, to sleep, but Pauline switched on her radio and even though I was totally UTBC, I could not help but hear Timmy Mallett. So Pauline and I had a slanging match, and eventually she got up. A few minutes later, Math came up and started yelling at me. So I followed him downstairs and bashed him up..

After breakfast, Daddy hunted out for me some old records (mainly 78s) either that he hasn't played for yonks, or that Grandad used to own and has given to us. Some of them are brilliant. Then I played Gyro-tennis with Math.

After making, eating and clearing lunch away, I had a game of cricket with Math. Then I started a lemon meringue pie, but mother came home , and didn't like the way I did it, so we had an argument, and she finished it off. Then I made a lasagne.

May 1983 (Part 1)

Fifteen, bored and man-mad

For a day when traditionally people danced round the Maypole, today's weather is hardly inspiring. It's such a shame, because yesterday was beautiful.

I watched Brideshead Revisited. Somehow, the magic seems to be gone. However, that cannot be said about To Serve Them All My Days. That is simply superb.

On the way back from the shops I saw Curly (Parish Priest and School chaplain) parked at the traffic lights. He wound his window down and asked, “Are you behaving yourself?”
“Of course, father.”
“I thought you would be at home doing some homework.”
“Me, father? You must be joking.” And because someone beeped him, he had to move.
(Lots of commentary on snooker…)

Final Score came on. Well, okay. United lost. So what. I don’t care. So did Liverpool. Watford drew. So what. Then the bad news came on. In the last minute of the frame (I've got bloody snooker on my fuckin’ mind) match at Highbury, Remi Moses was sent off. Ron Atkinson protested. He was ordered off. To make matters worse, Moses missed the Final. Brighton will win the Cup.
Steve Davis is the 1983 Snooker Champion of the World. By 18 frames to 6 against Cliff Thorburn.
I’m feeling really depressed, although the fabulous Three of A Kind is cheering me up. The reason I’m feeling depressed is the realisation that United are a pretty crap team. After all, they had three front men. Front men? God, front men are supposed to attack. Did they attack? Did they ‘eck. Apparently the only chance in the whole 90 minutes was Gordon McQueen. This is your great attacking line up y’know. Supposed to be talented. Talented my bleedin’ foot. God, if those three can manage between them x caps for England, y caps for Northern Ireland and z caps for Scotland U-21, it doesn’t say much for other players. And by ‘eck, that defence need their bloody heads banging together. It’s disgraceful conceding three goals. And they’re supposed to be an excellent defence. Goalie and Rightback on the edge of the England team, Leftback and one central defender Ireland internationals, and th'other central defender an ex-Scotland captain. It’s a disgrace. As for the midfield: less said about them the better. With Ray Wilkins being booked and Remi Moses sent off, I’m ashamed to call myself a Manchester United fan. If only Albiston, Robson, Muhren, Coppell and Stapleton were fit.

As soon as I saw Andrea this morning, we just embraced: we were both so happy – about Steve. She told me that while he was playing Alex, one of Alex’s fans threatened that if he got ten frames v Alex, he would be shot. Is it coincidence that Alex Higgins’ quarter-final opponent, Bill Werbenuik, was sent hate-mail?
We walked past Multi-Broadcast but the fit bloke was busy. Unfortunately, cos he’s nice.
I listened to Dave. Horizontal Smooch was Please Don’t go – Chicago.

RE was, as usual, totally boring. I don’t even remember what we did. Obviously, I wrote some of this, for the time on the last page indicates the RE lesson. French, too, was boring and I couldn’t even mess around with Clare for she was away.
I went to orchestra – percussion and woodwind – Scott Joplin’s Peacherine Rag. I could throttle those second years. They have taken me over, and me, the unargumentative fool that I am have allowed them to. I’m stuck doing simply bassdrum.

May 1982

I was fourteen at the time. In those days, at least, fourteen was the age where girls were their most hormonal, rebellious, sulky, moody and bitchy

On the Falklands front, Britain have bombed Port Stanley airfield. United beat Southampton with a goal from Scott McGarvey!!!!!!!
There was a newsflash which said that there is a full-scale air and sea battle in Falklands area.

I watched Match Time! (Followed by three sides of match analysis – or rather, player analysis).
I went to bed with Dave Ward for clarification, I listened to this geezer on the radio- but it was known across Gtr Manchester as 'going to bed with', the Robert Redford lookalike.

We drove out and had our lunch in Ellesmere. Then we came home. I didn't want to go and I sulked for the entire day

At nine o’clock we set out by coach to Llandudno for Retreat ie enforced religion. It was a most boring journey. Once at Llandudno we sorted out the rooms. After lunch we went for a play on the sands and a paddle in the sea. We also went on the playground. Then we went back and had a film strip which we discussed in groups. Then we made a poster and discussed them. We sang hymns and had tea. We went down to Llandudno and bought crisps from the pub The Snowdon. We prepared a Mass for tomorrow and had a Mass for today.

Then we had a party and a prayer by candlelight. Fr B informed us that a ship has been sunk. On the midnight news during the midnight feast we learnt that it was the HMS Sheffield, and up to thirty have been killed, plus a Harrier pilot.
We had a feast, crisps and drinks, and I was in and out of people’s bedrooms like a yoyo. Then I fell asleep at about 0110.

We had a short morning prayer and did some acting in roles. After lunch we went to town. I lost 70p in the amusement arcade. Then we went down to the beach and paddled in the pools (the sea was miles out).

The Return of the Teenage Diaries

May 1981 - aged 13....

A whole tin of treacle had spilt in Mel’s DS basket so she and Sam spent the whole of French and English clearing it up. When they eventually returned to English Mrs Bs went spare. Later on, Mel was reading a magazine, so Bs chucked her out of the classroom “and wait until Miss R deputy head passes and asks you what you were doin.” Miss R eventually passed – she passed. We were pissing ourselves. Sucks to Bs.

Aston Villa have won the Championship even though they lost, because Ipswich also lost. On the news they said that an Aer Lingus was hijacked en route from Dublin to London, and forced to land at Le Touquet. The hijacker was a Trappist Monk.

I read in the paper that Altrincham are champions of the Alliance Premier League. I hope they get into the 4th Division. It said on the news the reason that the former Trappist monk hijacked the plane was because he wanted the Vatican to reveal the third secret of Fatima.

Bobby Sands died this morning and there was fighting on the streets. In Norway someone threw a missile at the Queen protesting at Bobby Sands’ death.

After school I went to a rehearsal for Noye's Fludde, in the chapel. I discovered that I have to hit the cymbal double forte when God ie Mr J speaks.
At home I heard the chart. As an Ant Person it is the day to celebrate. NUMBER ONE is ‘STAND AND DELIVER’ BY ADAM AND THE ANTS!!!!!!!

In RE we were supposed to be discussing our class Mass for Monday. Mind you, I played with Nicola’s Rubic cube and wrote some fiction. In Chemistry we did practical – metals reacting with acids. Magnesium with dilute hydrochloric acid was fantastic. Steam came off, and it really bubbled, and was hot. Then I broke a test-tube, because Fiona D knocked my hand.

Adam and the Ants were on Top of the Pops!

The bus broke down on the way to school so we had to transfer to another one. At school I learnt that both Magda’s and Sandra’s bus also broke down.

I watched the Cup Final today: Manchester City v Tottenham Hotspur. Tommy Hutchinson scored after about thirty minutes. Hoddle took a free kick and it went in off Hutchinson After ninety minutes the score was 1-1, so they went into extra time. There were no more goals so there will be a replay.

I went out to school for a Noye's Fludde practice. Bridget C now an important producer at the Beeb arrived and said she’d been headbanging all night. Her headbanging!

At school we discussed the cup final. Andrea Bu and Magda started it.
When we were waiting to go into Biology, Clare and I were quoting God from Noye!” And that is all my darling dear”. Johnny was at the bottom of the stairs. He said “Have you quite finished up there?”

Before Mrs P'a arrived for Maths, Cass G told me about this girl she knows who goes to another school. Well, anyway, she went home and said to her Mum that out of her whole class she was one of only two virgins. So her Mum said she could go on the Pill.

Stand and Deliver by Adam and the Ants is still number one

I caught the 264 with Renee, Sarah and Fiona. Fiona had something from the Daily Star about Adam, who, incredibly, sold 1/3 of all records sold last week! Danny was on the bus. I’ve gone off him a bit.

It’s really brill where I sit in the classroom. On my left I have the window and the corridor, as well as a small and useful ledge. Behind me is the radiator – that’s lost most of its advantage now, because the heat is off at the mains, anyway, but in the winter I could control the heat. It’s still useful for putting things on. On the right of me is Chapman. That’s the blue chair and we’ve called it Chapman because it keeps murdering us. As my desk is on its own, I’m not distracted by anybody – well, Andrea Ba is across the aisle but if necessary I can switch off.

At 1.20pm I had an orchestra practice which lasted, for the percussionists, until 3.40pm. I had to across to the Physics Lab to get a stool and Johnny said, “Come over here, Gert, you horrible creature.”

I went out to school for Noye's Fludde. Before the performance Mr L came up to me, and I told him he looked very nice in his bow tie!

During the performance everything went wrong (for me). I didn't hit the cymbal properly, and kept losing my way. Katie C got her words mixed up, but I think only the cast noticed! Everybody laughed, thank goodness, when Helen hit Keiran. One day I'll be able to say I was in the same performance as various people - one who works for Really Useful company, one who is a Primary School headteacher in Devon, one who isn't on Google and one who has his own website, sort of when they're all famous!

I caught the 264 with Fiona and Renee. Danny was on. I still fancy him, although obviously, I'm not going to go around opening my mouth about it, what with him having a famous Dad.

We had an ace dos at registration. We went around switching off lights. When we were on Wigmore stairs Mrs M asked us if we shouldn't be in our classroom. We came upon Mrs R, and she asked us what we were laughing at. Then she said, "Why is everywhere in darkness...I bet it's you that's been turning the lights off." She turned them on, and as soon as she'd gone, we put them back off again. Ace laugh!

I went out to Noye's Fludde. We all had to sign a card for Keiran. Needless to say, Kathy had her name under 'Dear Mr Noye'.

The performance went exceedingly well, even I. Mr L said I played much better than yesterday, and put his arm around me. I do hope he doesn't leave. He really is nice. Okay, he can be ratty, but that makes it doubly satisfying when he's nice. I'll never be happy again if Raymond leaves as well as Sister B.

Afterwards we did Loreto speciality - moving furniture, or, rather, percussion instruments. I'll receive my Diploma yet. Well, I've already received a souvenir of The Fludde - a Muppet Mug, a present from Raymond.

In History we were talking about Noye's Fludde. Mrs Mc said the percussion was very good, so I said Mr L was very good. Mrs Mc twigged he's my 'latest', which isn't strictly accurate. We also talked about our trip to North Wales. I think it's going to be really gear. In Music I asked Mrs Bm whether it was true that Mr L is leaving. She said that she thinks she’d know if he was. I feel quite optimistic, therefore. I do hope he stays.

In Latin Miss F was saying that she enjoys teaching us but ‘You are all prisoners in this Colditz.’

(At home) I listened to the chart. 1 is Stand and Deliver- Adam and the Ants. I watched the Harlem Globetrotters which was absolutely fantastic.

In French we recited the homework we had to learn. I didn’t do too well. Frances asked why we couldn’t go down to the drama studio and act it out. Mme H said it wasn’t really worth it; all we needed was a train station and a café. I suggested we went down to Altrincham station to act it out, but Mme H said it would be better to do it at Calais, and then pop into the nearest French restaurant. In English we got out essays back. Mrs Bs said I ought to look in the magazines for Young Journalist competitions, and inflict my essays on the judges, and not her! Ace laugh!

In Physics we talked about train rails and expansion. It was very boring

School finished at 3.30. Mrs S made everybody in their blazers stay behind. (another of the stupid petty things at our school - second years were supposed to keep their gaberdines and blazers in the damp cloakroom at the other end of the school but to get in there you had fight through 120 first years and be inspected by stupid teachers who made you button your blazer up, plus it added about ten minutes to the day and was well out of the way if you were leaving by the back gate to walk home across the park. So most of us kept them in the classroom. There must have been at least sixteen people there, and Jane had hers in her bag. At home I watched the News. Francois Mitterand is now officially French President and has restored the National Anthem to its proper tempo.

I had a percussion lesson. My goodness, was Mr Lin a bad mood. He kept shouting and hiding his head in his hands. I did timpani and side drum.
‘English’ was absol brill. Before Mrs Bs arrived, I was playing pontoon with Kerstie. We heard the ‘normal’ bell go and thought someone was just pissing around. Then it changed – to a continuous ring. Christina, who had just gone out in the corridor, reported this, so we all went down to the tennis courts. We were there for over twenty minutes (until 3.30) and four police arrived. It was a bomb scare! There are confused stories as to when it was supposed to go up – 3.45 or 4.00, so we all had to be evacuated.

Ace dos. Pauline came home. Right! Ann-Marie and her had told Stephen to phone up and say there’s a bomb. Ha ha! And all the police (there was more than four) were searching under the teachers’ cars!!

I saw the news. Peter Sutcliffe is guilty of all 13 murders, and the judge recommends an imprisonment of not less than 30 years.

Very long commentary on a match at Wembley. England 0 Scotland 1. We probably put out a B team.

I watched The Val Doonican Show with special guests Keith Harris and Orville, and Lena Zavaroni.

Bank Holiday. I watched the Great Escape. It was an excellent film – comic in parts, tragic in others, and poetic in others. It was true, as well, which made it even more enjoyable.

I watched the European Cup Final Liverpool v Real Madrid. I have never said this before about a football match – maybe a result, but never about a match – UNDILUTED CRAP. Then suddenly it became rather exciting. The final score was 1-0 to Liverpool.

Switzerland v England. The fighting on the terraces was awful – Union Jacks all over the place, and the match is being shown all over Europe. It’s only a small minority – 200 or so. The final score was Switzerland 2 England 1 – the first time Switzerland have beaten England for 34 years.

The perfect diary entry

This year, I want to read the entire oeuvre of my diary, but I promise you I won't reproduce paragraphs and paragraphs of it here.

2/1/1981 I was almost thirteen, and my parents had given me this rather sweet notebook in which to write my diary.

Bear in mind this was the school holidays, and when you're not quite thirteen there's not a lot to do except, it seems, revise Latin, read the dictionary and play with your little brother's Scalextrix. And watch TV...

I watched Play School, Mighty Mouse, Jackanory, Johnny Ball Games, Grange Hill (Tucker has joined the action group), Ivor the Engine, and later, The Tales of Hoffman, starring Plácido Domingo, who's really gorgeous and brill.

Week 2 at Uni October 86

I started with a Sociology lecture which was only an introductory, but quite difficult to follow. Then I went to a Politics – Tops (Theories of Politics). There are six of us in the class, which Professor Regan takes. I’m the only female there. Great, I don’t think! I then decided that being ten minutes late to a Maths lecture was not something to be done too often, so I decided not to go at all.

I went to a personal tutorial with Professor Regan. Because he was called out on other business he set me reading Hayek’s The Road To Serfdom. For “homework” he set me Animal Farm
.
I then went to the Health Centre and explained to Dr W that I had been feeling constantly thirsty and also needing to go to the loo frequently, so she told me to give a urine sample, and she tested it for sugar. There was a faint hint. So she said I’m to have a blood test to see if I’m a diabetic. That’s tomorrow. I don’t know what I’m scardest of, the blood test or the fact that I might have diabetes. I’m a bit upset about it.

I had a very welcome lie in, but then I went to he Health Centre for a blood test. I had been instructed not to have anything to eat twelve hours previously, so I was not at my best. The nurse couldn’t get anything out of my left arm, so tried my right arm, but to no avail, so she called Dr W, who after great difficulty managed to get a sufficient amount of me. I was told to go and get something to eat even if only a bar of chocolate or crisps.

I stood up, felt the room swimming, and was pushed into a chair, my head thrust between my knees, and then I was given a glass of milk and a biccy. I managed to struggle back to Willoughby, where I was able to unwind until lunch, after which I dashed over to PB for Labour Club. It was a business meeting (in a style reminiscent of Broadheath Labour Party) but they said that speakers that they have already lined up are Austin Mitchell, Gerald Kaufman and ….Derek Hatton.

I then went off to Sociology; I have an essay on Karl Marx to do. I then went back to the room of somebody called David T in Cripps. We were providing a shoulder for another fella from Cripps, who’s in my Soc. seminar (Chris S), and is very homesick. He went home on Monday night but was sent back by his parents. He said he’d be at the URN party, but he wasn’t, nor was he at the Pips lecture this midday.

After dinner I pogged off to PB to hear Simon Hughes (Liberal MP for Bermondsey) speaking. Most of what he said, I agreed with, which doesn’t mean I've become converted to Liberalism, nor does it mean that having led the split in the Liberals Simon Hughes has joined the Labour Party. It purely means that he was uncontroversial. I missed my opportunity to stick my neck in, and point out that the Alliance may be allied in places like Broxtowe, but how will they square their differences in places like Trafford.

I could have stayed for a Liberal Cheese and Wine, but I decided to go off to URN Cheese and wine – career move. It was fun, there was plenty of home-brew wine, and I had tremendously in deep discussions with people. I

I went to the bar and joined Jennie, Tracey, Lisa S and Sally. We decided to go for a pizza, and were joined by a bloke called Pete from Sally’s corridor (D floor). We were joined by Martin on Broadgate; he’d just been playing soldiers with the OTC, so was wearing a suit – have to look good in the officers mess. I had a prawn pizza – not bad, I must say!

I worked the bar, that was good fun, if tiring. I was hopeless at first, not being able to pull a pint, and getting a pile of abuse, but by the end of the evening I was quite reasonable. I’m just waiting for the money now.

I had a lie in after reading the papers, I pogged over to a Tops lecture with the extremely boring Mr McD. Then I spent the afternoon at URN which was WONDERFUL. I did a report on Karnival; I even read it live on the five o’clock news. Jon Munro who I think is something mega important, has suggested that I interview Michael Heseltine next week. Having been told that I can do it, I am absolutely determined to do it, and although, naturally, I am filled with trepidation as to whether I can actually succeed, I am filled with anticipation at the challenge - a real boost to my proposed career. So ambitious am I, that I've decided I don’t want to be Prime Minister at twenty five, I’ll stick to being a presenter of the ‘Today’ programme by the age of twenty three.

After my afternoon at URN, I rushed back to Willoughby to get poshed up in fifteen minutes flat. It was the formal dinner, and it was tremendous fun seeing everybody (nearly – not the bar staff not Ian as you will see later) out of their everyday clothes. Many of the blokes had dinner suits, all the rest had suits on, most of the women had dresses & heels, there was a lovely atmosphere, with people walking around with bottles of wine – either Schloss Willoughby which is like cats piss, or Sainsburys. I had Sainsburys Yugoslav Riesling.

The Duck Skwad arrived with their custard pies to get Ian , our delightful Hall President – he’s okay, actually & I got a good photo of him covered in shaving foam.

The cocktail bar opened; I started with a Mega Zombie Surprise (double gin, Martini & orange juice) which was gorgeous, but coming after half a bottle of wine and before half a pint of Becks made me slightly inebriated, enough for me to have a deep & meaningless conversation with a bloke called Chris who’s doing Archaeology, & I also had a pleasant conversation with Kevin (nice Kevin, from Bangor, Co. Down) – I really have desires on him. Simon L, our Hall treasurer, told me I was pissed, but that was okay, so was he. I ended up in the JCR flaked out, but joined a load of second and third years, including the mining bloke, Martin the action man, & big Mark, the bar manager.

I’m totally pissed off with United & totally over the moon, too. Jesper Olsen is deffo leaving after a punch up with Remi Moses the other day. Jesper has eleven stitches in his head. Things must be bad if the quiet man Remi’s fighting.
However, Manchester United actually won today, AND it was against Sheffield Wednesday. Stapleton, Davenport (2) and Whiteside scored. Forest, Liverpool & Everton lost, which is smart.

I have worked MOST of today, although I took a few photos of the Karnival Float, which didn’t win. Willoughby has won for the past nine years. Richard III Soc. won this year.

I did the Hall shop, and then chatted for ages to Mike. We ended up in party in Chris (heavy metal) room. Liz from the room next door to me was there. She won’t speak to me. God knows why. Bloody Boring Greasy Haired Rik Mayall John Boy Dave Bl was there.

I spoken to Lisa O for about half an hour. She’s into CND & to a lifestyle of not getting totally chummy with people immediately.