Five-Year Diary: Tennis off, suited me. I stayed in bed. Mum brought breakfast up on a tray. This always made the day feel different somehow. It was as if it had already been decided I wouldn’t have to rush into anything.
Bath afterwards, then a lift into town with her as she was heading to Gateshead Polytechnic. I liked those drives. They were quiet with no pressure to talk. I just watched the roads and shops go by and thought ahead to what I might find.
Eldon Square for records. Windows for a flageolet. The Kard Bar for a Roger Dean poster—Badgers, very detailed, slightly unreal, like they belonged in another world. I liked that.
Back in my room, I pulled the shutter down and shut everything out. It made the space feel contained, like it properly belonged to me. I practised the flageolet for a while—simple tunes, nothing much—but I liked the sound of it. My brother came round. We messed about between that and the organ. We weren’t really practising. We were just trying things out.
Lunch in front of Pebble Mill at One. It was raining by then, and it didn’t look like it was stopping, so I stayed in. Played records, read a bit—gardening books mostly, which I’ve got into lately for no particular reason.
Watched television later—Mr Smith’s Veg and whatever else was on. Nothing special. Just one of those days
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