1968: WEEK 9

1968: WEEK 9

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Monday, 26 Feb

I don't know whether to go to the Glyn Dance on Thursday or the Ewell Tech one on the 9th. I'm awfully scared of going to either. I will force myself to go to both.

Discussed Friday with Pat Randall. Mark's grotty friend came up to her too, and said he believed in class distinctions!!!  Either he's a genius or a half-wit. Chatted with Pam and honestly, Roger does sound unbalanced. Just because he saw her talking to another boy on Friday night he charged off and practically got run over by a car. Admittedly he was drunk, but it is irresponsible of him.

There was a meeting on the cruise at dinner break. We're now told the overnight bag has got to be included in the 33lb!!! We had to sort ourselves into three dormitory groups - Lucy and me are with Claire, Jo, Ruth and Jill. I am so longing to go. The number of places we visit is unbelievable.

Tig informed me, incrediously, that Martha carted her dinner all the way from the canteen to sit in the Unit next to Anya ! 

Changed into black ripple skirt, flower blouse and black patent shoes and we left for Leatherhead Theatre. There was a rather nice long-haired boy at another table who kept on giving me looks through dinner, and a few rather snazz actors around. We had an argument over modern art - Daddy so annoys me when he's convinced he is right. How can anyone discuss in a reasonable manner when they're biased to start with?

At 7.30 King Lear began. Leatherhead never fails to amaze me - tonight proved they can do anything. Joseph O'Conor was marvellous - just the movements of his hands! He surpassed most West End acting. The foul daughters were perfectly foul. But it's the play itself that staggers me. How, I ask myself over and over again, could a man in one single lifetime experience so much and put it down with such perfection? His genius sometimes is too great to get to grips with. It's like trying to understand eternity - you can't. 

Tuesday, 27 Feb

Got a foul cold. It got steadily worse and I've now got a sore-throat and have to keep on blowing. 

For the first time in my life work is really getting on top of me. There's so much to do it's become ludicrous. I've decided I can't go to the dance on Thursday, and Tig isn't either. She's so fed up with Glyn boys, she hasn't met a nice one yet. 

Sarah wears contact lenses! So do Ruth and Brenda, I think it's such a fantastic idea, in fact, I've set my heart of having them myself. How marvellous to see everything properly for the first time in my life. 

At dinner break I went to the discussion on Belle de Jour. Owl and Mr Pinkerton were there, which spoilt it - I didn't dare say anything. Owl strikes me as being highly intelligent, but Christa is incredible - the things she said about that film. So brilliant! I didn't realise it was so complicated, I wish I understood it better. The thing is, it's so nearly fantasy that you don't know how much is reality - perhaps none of it is? Then Lucy, Tig, Pam and me visited the logs and went a bit mad, jumping onto them and playing that nutty game. We went over the bridge onto the common and watched a train pass on the way back, then ran all across the field. 

French Circle after school. A few weeds from Glyn came too. Tea in between films;  the second one was only in black and white. 

Wednesday, 28 Feb

I wouldn't have gone to school if it wasn't for work - I felt pretty rotten all day. My throat was so sore it hurt to speak.

Anya and me spent the whole of the last period chatting in the coffee bar. Really, I  can't complain about my situation when compared with her's; she's got to give up Physics and Chemistry and take up Botony and Geography instead. Poor Anya. I'd be a physical wreck. She said she's fed up with Malcolm too, and she doesn't know how to get rid of him. She didn't say what she felt about Martha.

Just been listening to the Moody Blues on Le Pop Club and one of them refuses to speak anything but French. His accent!

Thursday, 29 Feb

Didn't go to school today which was super. (1) I was able to lie in till 9 o'clock (2) I didn't have to go to the play rehearsal (3) I didn't have to talk so got rid of my sore-throat and (4) I spent the whole day on my English project - and finished it! And in the evening I read a book - Bonjour Tristesse. You'd never guess she was 18 when she wrote it. It wasn't as frustrating a book at Margaret Drabble's, because the girl never got all complicated and mixed-up. In fact, her thoughts were extraordinarily like mine.

Wore my new ski pants and socks all day. Whenever I plan what clothes I'm going to be wearing in Austria I think of what Dutronc will think of them. Which is so ridiculous because he probably won't be there. But how wonderful hope is - life would be unbearable without it.

Oh, oh, oh, what a lovely treat - they've just played 'My Girl' on Caroline. I put my light out immediately it came on, lay back and held the radio to my ear.  I only hear it about once a month. I treasure the three minutes it lasts.

Friday, 1 March

Everyone thought the dance last night was a flop!!! It's lovely knowing you've taken the right decision, not going.

After lunch Tig and me went up to U3, the talking room, and had a good old moan. Tig is fed up with Glyn boys and with Martha. I'm at the stage where I've given up caring about either, but it really seems to be getting her down. If you so much as go up to Anya and say hello, Martha is there, nervously hovering in the background, like an old mother-bird fussing over her young. It sounds harmless but it gets on my nerves. Poor Tig really is fed up about it, especially as Lucy and me will be away on the cruise in three weeks' time.

We went to see Miss Lack and had a final vote on speaking in the coffee-bar. I'm fed up because it's been decided that you can. Well, being allowed to speak in the coffee-bar is a marvellous idea, but people won't co-operate and they won't whisper, they'll shout at the top of their voices. From now on work will be impossible in the carrels downstairs.

Christa must be a pretty marvellous actress. The National Youth Theatre is going to Berlin in April and 'St Joan' is representing England. And who's acting St Joan - Christa. I can see her ending up as Lady Macbeth at the Aldwych in ten years' time!

Poor Daddy is a bit miserable about Amsterdam Town Hall. It's more or less certain he's got nowhere. On Tuesday they printed in a Dutch newspaper that the seven runners-up would be notified by the end of the month. It's ghastly news to get on your wedding anniversary. 

Sozzy, Rhys and Jane came today! Ma and Pa had to go out so the rest of us went to the Italian restaurant in Sutton. Had a super meal. Extremely gay waiters, one never stopped singing at the top of his voice, and the guitarist was marvellous (though nobody clapped). Chump and me had great fun teasing Jane about the Magic Roundabout and completely took her in. We said that Dougal isn't Dougal down in Surrey, but Doggal, and that Zeberdee is Peeberdee and Mr Rusty is Mr Roosty! I had tomato soup with pints of cream poured on top, chicken filled with butter and garlicy herbs, and a heavenly syllabub thing - hot and creamy and tasting of wine.

Saturday, 2 March

Letter from Francis. He sounds a bit grotty. For example, he doesn't wear long hair because in France it's 'dépassé'. Well, besides being a weedy excuse it's not even true. And who's to bet he wore it long when it was 'a la mode'?

At 10 Jean and her sister picked me up. Kirsten is 25 and looks 40. She's was wearing a blue skirt, blue tights and a blue anorak, she wears no make-up and she has mousey hair. I suppose it's the ravey Scottish influence coming out. We drove to Sutton - I looked for a knitted hood. No luck. Jean and me decided we'd see Bonny and Clyde.

At 20 to 2 Daddy took me to the cinema and we picked up Jean on the way. Jean thought some bits were monotonous but it was great. What surprised me was Bonny and Clyde themselves - they were so nice! Well, obviously, as Rhys says, they were psychopaths and completely lacked moral conscience. But when they were normal they were so nice. I felt so sorry for them, because really they couldn't help it, and at the end, when you were least expecting it, they were brutally killed. It was a lovely morning when this farmer on the road ahead signalled for them to stop. They got out and went over to help him, and the next thing you knew, they were bombarded with bullets from every direction. A thousand red spots appeared over the two bodies - it was so dreadful. The way they acted the pain and gradually slumped to the ground - I could hardly bear to look.

Bonny was fantastically attractive and I adored her maxis. Clyde looked extraordinarily like Mr Batchelor. Some of the bank robberies were really hilarious, but it was sad towards the end, when they gradually realised what bliss it would be not to be on the run. The strain would have killed me.

Parents went out and at 8 Jean came round. We played her 'Un Homme et Une Femme' LP and made waffles. I do feel sorry for her, her exam results were dreadful. Even worse, she doesn't get on with her parents. Am I the only person who does? She says their old-fashioned attitudes get her down.

Sunday, 3 March

Read the Observer supplement about heredity and worked out if Dutronc and I ever had children what they'd be like! They'd have wavyish dark hair, dark wide-ish eyes, and a Roman nose like his!

Granny and Grandpa came so we all had a big lunch. Sozzy, Rhys and Jane left, and I had a gorgeous game of tennis with Pa - played four games and we both won two. 

In the evening Grandma showed us an old photograph of Ma and Sozzy's school. Honestly, what a lot of lumpy frumps! People have got better looking - at least their figures have. And I'm sure it's not just because they're not wearing bras. Their legs are so beefy, and their hair so frousy. And what's more, the photo has this sort of depressed look. Daddy says it's the after effects of the First World War. Oh dear, what a time. I couldn't bear it if life wasn't colourful and free like it is now - for people like me, that is. I know perfectly well 80% of the world is undernourished and miserable.

I have a ghastly feeling my sore-throat's coming back. I couldn't bear it if I had to have my tonsils out. 

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1968: WEEK 10

1968: WEEK 10

1968: WEEK 8

1968: WEEK 8