The Winterfood Diaries

The Winterfood Diaries

Friday, 30 January 1987

Ghosts of Yesterday

At Tech.

Today.  Today.  Today. 

The whirlwind in my mind cannot be told.  I cannot decipher the carnival of its language.  Only the ghosts of yesterday tell me I hate myself and all for which I stand.  Perhaps it is the doom lurking in my brain, like a sniper, lying in wait.  I should get back into my suits and shirts, my glasses.  And tear up these black old rags.  For what do I stand?  And where am I going?

In this sunlit room, my mind is almost blank.  It is a waste, in which I occasionally venture to recall interesting times, and love.  Why are my friends so far away?  And where did the smile of youth go?  This shaggy, crimped hair, this doped-up face and furry chin are all I know right now; the purple patterns on my belt, from that old shop; my ripped and torn black legs.  The dust and fluff on my clothing…

I want to sail over the rim of Time’s great crater and cradle the love of the Tiger.  I want to cherish visions, parties and still life.  The girl who was all, I neglected.  I’d love to taste those lips again.  The unbidden colours in my mind bring this waste land into sharp relief.  What do I want?  Why does it all change? 

I am black.  They think I’m morbid.  I will believe it, although, I try not to.  Perhaps I am in this Pit because of Them?

Attitudes and comments do not help.  They hope I am typical.  I am not.  But then one can only hope.  My world’s beginning to slip again; hazy faces and familiar places are blurring.  How?  Why?  Why does it all change?  Where did my soul go?


Stepping over white blankets and remembering golden eyes; cherubim smiling and a smell of dirt; the cries and shouts of young girls.  Not this hidden silence, locked in my room; the resplendent visions of old playthings that burn through my mind; younger days.

Forgetting the past comes as an awful blow.  I stare at my mirrored face, with its lines and sunken cheeks.  I’ve forgotten those loves, those playground souls that pierced my ears with voices now gone.  Childhood’s end destroys the mind with its dying love for friends we knew.  Let me out of this mortal shell, it hurts.  Let me go to St Peter while I am still young and pretty.  Let the aged wither and forget, not me.

At home.

‘Beyond Doubt’ – Gene Loves Jezebel

I’ve tried to tidy myself up a bit more.  Even tho’ I probably don’t look all that scruffy anyway. 

In the Common Room, I began reading Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte, and it is excellent.  In Theatre Studies, a big identity crisis enveloped me as mentally, my past, present and future collided.  My mind collapsed and I found myself reeling back to early 1986 and my nice, smart suits and slacks and jackets, my glasses and flicked hair.  ‘Where did it all go?’ I wondered.  Looking at the clothes I was wearing, I cringed, repulsed; likewise, when I thought of my kind of music and the whole alternative scene.  I couldn’t halt my panic over this identity crisis.  I just wanted to be back at school and ‘normal’.  I thought about the gay sex abuse thing.  I lost all track of everything that was going on – and got into trouble for it.  I had to go and write it down.  As well as this, I thought Wanda was being sarcastic with me.

G   O   D  !

Every so often, I attempted to concentrate on the present, trying to realise that ‘THIS IS NOW!’, trying to accept all that I have become; but with no understanding of it.  I still do not know what is becoming of my thoughts.  Why am I like this lately?!

I put it all down to college pressure, my deep and hidden hatred of all my friends, my constantly resurrected love for BMW, the lack of a girlfriend, fancying Roger’s cousin and the fact that Flash and Dodo are so far away and will never know how much I care for them.  I can’t wait till February 14th.  If it doesn’t come soon I’ll just die.  I wonder if Flash’s got my letter yet?  I hope he writes back.


‘Shelter from the Storm’ – The Mission

Hannah (the 15-year-old girl from TRIANGLIA) rang.  She said there was no point in me meeting her tomorrow as she hasn’t a tape for me to record on.  Then she changed her mind and said she would come.  I really want to spend the day with her.  But all she’ll do is chat for a while and then go, I bet!  If she does stay with me, we’ll probably end up going around with Danny and his girlfriend.  How jolly, I don’t think!

[Images subject to control of individual Copyright Holders including works originated by Elton Townend Jones, but excluding any images or design attributed to ‘The Situation’ which are copyright of The Situation (see specific acknowledgements in the ‘Thanks to…’ section below) / Based on true events and designed as a study of parochial British cultural and emotional life in the late 20th century, this blog is a work of fiction. Cultural icons excluded, all characters and incidents featured are entirely fictional / This blog is non-profit; all video clips are used for illustrative purposes and always come from YouTube / No copyright infringement is intended – just trying to get things into context. Never forget: no man is an island. If you think anything I’ve used is damaging you in any way, please comment and immediate action will be taken to minimise offence / This notice was amended on 13 July 2011 and is intended to cover this and all posts on that precede it]

NEXT TIME: ‘Child of January…’

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