#10 - 1984 Week 13: The last droplets of memory and imagination

Is life just one big April Fools’ Trick?

Monday 26 March 1984
86-280 Week 13

Things are coming on me thick and fast nowadays and that is why I am writing this at 11.30pm. For today, after school, in the school room, the play ‘Waiting for Godot’ was put on, which we are studying for A Level and will hopefully understand - because I doubt it.

Basically, it is, at first sight, a total load of rubbish. I really like that sort of stuff. Vive l’Avant-garde! However, the production today was spoilt by making the two main characters look like spacemen instead of tramps and Vladimir was a woman, which ruined the whole lot. It is rather like re-orchestrating a Beethoven symphony. Why do it?

Anyway, I really ought to be going to beddy-byes to have some sleep.

“Sleep, that unravels the knitted sleave of care”

Where from? Does anyone know this brilliant quote. It seems to me to come from Act II Scene II.

I have lots to organise, to sort out. When can I do it all?

2024: OK so I got the quote the wrong way round. It should be “Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care”. Which has the sense of sleep tidying up our tangled thoughts. Though I also quite like the idea of sleep having a loosening, unravelling rather than organising effect. With everyone giving us the basic, sensible advice these days to sleep more for good mental and physical health, Shakespeare of course put it so fabulously so long ago as usual. As for the last sentence… it’s only got worse and worse! Take heed!

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Tuesday 27 March
87-279 Week 13

It is just so irresistible to open this book, take up a pen and write. Actually, I have to force myself to do it every day. I squeeze the last droplets of memory and imagination from my mind and thus come up with pages that are only half soaked in words, and less in facts. My brain is exerted to its utmost on translations, sentences, Bach chorales, studying literature, that I have no room left for any organising, anything practical or any news of the outside world. I really don’t know what is happening outside my head, which is only about as big as a football, and yet has got so much in it. Wow. And can there not come a point when the seams will burst and everything in it spill out? I don’t remember the worldly things of yesterday at all.

I made a phone call to France, and tried to speak that amazing language, and tried to organise a holiday. Is it possible? I hope, like Margaret*, I connect the practical to the mind.

* Margaret from the E.M. Forster’s ‘Howard’s End’.

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Wednesday 28 March
88-278 Week 13

Useless day. So shall I not, will not, won’t, cannot, should not, don’t want to write very much. Today I pleaded a sore throat and skived off rock climbing so I could go and do some work in the library, which was very helpful, since it means I have time to write my diary. Libraries are excellent because I look at a shelf and want to read all the books on it, but that’s just a stupid idea now, isn’t it.

Apparently (see March 20^th) Ros’ friend, Colette, is going nuts about me, which is extremely annoying because I am not attracted to her at all, really. Look, Colette, just stop thinking about me and go away, please. And what is even more annoying is that some stupid bastard (Jon) arranged another meeting. How can I get out of it? Help! I expect you will hear more about that problem later.

88 days have passed – For Ever!!

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Thursday 29 March
89-277 Week 13

Dear me,

I am extremely sorry for

having committed the great sin of

not writing anything in my diary on

the 29^th March 1984.

So what?
I
don’t
care.
As long as I fill up the page.

Sort

of.

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Friday 30 March
90-276 Week 13

Just when I want to settle down and do my homework, I have to go to the cinema. And Friday is my big homework day. It is frightening to have to miss four hours which are so vitally important. Anyway so there, I went to T. Wells to see ‘Champions’. It was a really good film, so well made and involving. No blood and guts, thank goodness. It was the true story about a jockey who had cancer but recovered finally and went on to win the Grand National. The photography was amazing and it was extremely dramatically moving, rather like Chariots of Fire.

Afterwards we all went to Sylvia’s house for a cup of tea and lounged around for an hour or so and then we went home and then we went to bed and then we went to sleep. Well, I did. And so to bed, dead.

I am running out of steam.

2024: Here’s the music to Champions. It has to be said the film got some less good reviews than mine.

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Saturday 31 March
91-275 Week 13

I got up at the same time as my body, stupid object. It really gets in the way. Had to wash and dress the damn thing, then, would you believe it, I had to stuff bits of gunge and muck down its mouth to ferment, just so that it can give off gasses, yuk.

Once again I go out in the evening to a 1960s disco dance, organised by the Judd Mothers. Why? It was great fun, we jived etc. Mr Rendall and Mr Kirkup were there freaking out. I wonder what he is going to come up with in French on Tuesday. The music is really good because it hasn’t got such strong beats that destroy the rest of the music, like today. Anyway, ‘the others’ went off to a party, leaving me and Sophie, or even Sophie and I. Oh Sophie, what have you gone and done now? How can I help? That’s all I need to say.

Another late night and I haven’t even done Act One of Hamlet for Mr Mitchell. Looks like the most important job for tomorrow.

Merde!

2024: Denis Rendall was the rather Edwardian-looking headmaster of Judd School from 1970-1986. Can’t find any pictures of him, being either Edwardian - or freaking out.

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Sunday 1 April
92-274 Week 13

Mothering Sunday and April Fools’ Day both at the same time was too much. So I opted out of both and didn’t play any tricks or buy any flowers. Not that I ever have. Instead I went to an old people’s tea party to perform in a trio playing ‘Bach at the Double’ which we did at the school charity concert. Apparently it was successful, but not according to me.

Jon came round in the evening to play Kodaly with me – great piece. He stayed for ages. So I had to stay up for ages to read my psychology book. It is getting really interesting and confusing. Colour doesn’t exist! Amazing. Do we? I expect so. Or is life just one big April Fools’ Trick. Yes, that sounds more like it. More like what? What is what? What are you reading? What am I writing? What the hell am I writing?

Actually, that question is simply answered: Drivel.

Agony!

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2024: This was the school charity concert, Dec ‘83. ‘Bach at the Double’.

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