Fifty years ago: Friday, 23rd April 1976
Five-year Diary: I woke early, keen to get to Liptons, and spent most of my tuck money on biscuits. These are preliminaries to returning to boarding school. The dread of the pending return to what I call ‘posh prison’ builds.
Mum went off to the bank, though she was in one of her moods—tense, distracted, not really to be engaged with.
I went into town (45 bus), destination the Kard Bar, where I bought a brooch for Julie-Anne. It felt like a purposeful gesture—something that would register. Connect us. An indication that I liked to think of us as something. I hoped she’d wear it.
Back home, I was required to babysit a girl from across the road who was sent over—she’s only eight. She was happily glued to the box, so I drew her sitting and watching kids’ afternoon TV.
Granny wasn’t in, I rang. I usually go round before disappearing back to school for a few months. Mum went out shopping again.
I had a date with Julie-Anne. Getting ready to go out became a performance. A bath, blow-drying, then the sunlamp. The disco look: Bee Gees hair, a lightened fringe, a suggestion of a tan—assembled from television, magazines, and each other. A version of myself.
I cycled up to Julie-Anne’s. We had arranged to see Earthquake with Charlton Heston at the Royalty.
We didn’t sit in the notorious back row. Although there was ample space. I counted nine people.
I put my arm around her, and we cuddled (I thought we did, probably wishful thinking – no kissing).
Julie-Anne was very pretty and talkative. She went to church, which mattered to her. I had stepped away from being confirmed, declaring that I was an atheist. I hadn’t told Julie-Anne.
Back at hers, I stayed as long as I could, stretching the evening. Once back at school, it would be eleven or more weeks before I spoke to any girl my age.
I missed most of Berserk on ITV. This love game requires sacrifices.
I called Julie-Anne to say goodnight.
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