The Winterfood Diaries

The Winterfood Diaries

Thursday, 3 December 1987

Say Hello, Wave Goodbye


Late.  Not too late, though.

 

‘Caislean Oir’ – Clannad



 

Hi, Flash. 

 

Life’s shit.  I’m full of more flu.

 

Roger ‘n’ I spent a cold, nackered nite in a workmen’s caravan/hut thingie that we ‘broke into’ cos shop doorways, the park and Sainsbury’s car park were too cold.  A policeman found us in there during the early hours of the morning, but he was cool about it.  He said as long as we were out before he returned at 6am that was fine.  But it was hell on earth.  I FORBID MYSELF OF EXCESSIVE DRINK.  Not that it affected me in a bad way, but it just gives me shit memories ‘n’ feelings.  No way am I roughing it in the winter again, either.

 

‘Alone Again Or’ – The Damned



 

Today, Roger was really ill and covered in dry sick.  Suz was well dischuffed, but very patient.  On second thoughts, stay with her, Roger, she IS nice in a strange way.   Let’s sod all this Blondie ‘n’ Tracey crap.

 

ELECTIONS TOMORROW + MONDAY

In order of preference, I shall vote for:

 

1)       Sammi Jennings

2)       Fiona Sawyer

3)       Olivia Pickering

4)       Amanda

5)       Jenny Taylor

6)       Roger Watson

7)       Hamster

8)       Bianca White

9)       Natalie Palmer

 

Roger? 

Look, I helped organise his campaign, but it doesn’t mean I think he’s the best man for the job.  I helped him cos he’s a mate and he asked for my assistance.  I think Sammi and Fiona will be perfect.

 

My No.1: ‘Say Hello, Wave Goodbye’ – Soft Cell



 

I will write to Justine, soon.  And all my other ‘victims’ this year.

 

I dislike most aspects of my life, and it may be a consolation that I like Suz and Justine a lot more now.  And I think Luggage is ace.  I change yet again…

 

But what next? 

 

I don’t know what I want or need or feel.  Too much need to break out from the ‘rut’ I’m in.  To become somewhat new.  To change and be better for it.  As a person, as a fashionable youngster and as a listener of music.

 

‘The Anvil’ – Visage



 

I spent the day with Graham, Danny, Judy and Mary.  Mary gave me a letter she’d written to me whilst I was away last Friday (the 27th).

 

She wrote it whilst sitting on the hard library floor, to tell me that Leighton was in Tech with Justine.  She’s annoyed that I’m not in and is feeling pissed off and ill, either because she hasn’t eaten much lately or because she’s dying and doesn’t know it.  But then it’s ‘fiddlesticks’ (as her mum would say) when she realises she’s lost £5.  It turns out that Emma was off when I was – because she was tired after a trip to London – which means another day without lunch for penniless Mary.  She feels dizzy with hunger.  This reminds her of the time her mum fainted in Norwich, in a butcher’s shop (whilst pregnant with Simon).  Mary was only 8 and she cried her eyes out, cos she thought her mum was dead.

 

She says dying might be a fun experience, but it’s a shame no one can tell you what it’s like.  She supposes that would take all the fun out of it.

 

She’s ‘bloody freezing’, even though she’s wearing 2 t-shirts, a shirt, a cardigan and a coat.  And she has a sore throat, but as long as it’s not tonsillitis she doesn’t care.

 

She hates Fridays because it means:

 

‘double Human Biology, double Chemistry, dinner (if you’re not skint), free hour, English.’

 

She gets annoyed that some pratts nearby are taking the piss out of her image.  She said someone actually asked her if she had any ‘pot’ on her yesterday, but no one believed her when she said she hadn’t.  She says they’re sick, but one of them gave her a flower and apologised for being a pain.

 

She says the Christmas lights go on in Fakenham ‘tonight’.  It all starts at 3pm, but they don’t go on till Pat from EastEnders turns them on at 7.30pm.

 

 

Apparently Jacko from Brush Strokes is staying at the Crown Motel in Fakenham.
 




Mary’s spoken to him, thrill, shock, horror…

 

She tells me that Olivia isn’t very pleased with me and that Frank Fontaine is thinking of giving my part in The Canterbury Tales to someone else.  She reckons that’s depressing and that I should come back or else.  She says the play had better be good as she’s paid out for 2 tickets (her and Emma).  She hopes I’ll be back on Monday as ‘a lack of [my] presence could be most depressing.’

 

She says there’s only 7 more days left at Tech and everyone’s ‘ranting and raving about’, but she’d rather be there than stuck in Fakenham.  She thinks I’m going to think she’s ‘wet’ and laugh at her because she totally hates going home.  This is because her mum ‘loves having a go’ at her.  She says she’d kill her if she knew she’d even stepped inside a pub, let alone got pissed.  It’s amazing to Mary that she hasn’t noticed, as she usually gets into ‘a pretty bad state’ on Fridays and Saturdays and sometimes Sundays.  She thinks her mum must be dense!

 

She says her mum’s decided they should move.  ‘Well, I’m not going,’ she says.

 

She mentions me going up to Leeds, which is where her old headmaster comes from, along with his son Chris, who Mary used to go out with.

 

She tells me she had a friend who was a Mod.  She got sacked from being a petrol pump attendant for squirting petrol at a bald man’s head.  She didn’t know why she did it, she just felt an urge and saw it through.

 

Some ‘lovey-dovey’ people walk past her, which she says makes her sick as ‘some people have all the luck’.

 

She says she’s heard I’ve been invited to Diana Lewis’s party on 9th January.  She said it should be fun as at least 600 invitations have been sent out.  She says Emma’s refused to go, but Gemma is so it should be ‘a right piss up’.

 

She gets excited, thinking about Gemma being in Norwich buying her a Christmas present.  Apparently, Gemma already bought her ‘a skeleton’.

 

‘I’ve got this thing about skeletons, don’t know why, always have…’

 

She went out to the ‘wine bar’ with Gemma on Friday 20th November.  Gemma was apparently going on about how someone called Dweeb was ‘gross’ and had ‘no personality’, but once they were pissed, Gemma got off with him.  The next day, after Gemma had finished work she went on about how much she regretted getting off with him.  Mary said to her ‘It’s okay, we all make mistakes’, and that night Gemma got off with him again! 

 

‘She can’t go a weekend without getting off with someone.’

 

Mary’s bored of being the Gooseberry.  ‘Meow,’ she adds.

 

The letter continues with a section written by Gemma at 9pm, whilst sitting in Mary’s room listening to the drums on ‘This Corrosion’ and drinking tea out of ‘kiddie mugs’.  Apparently, Mary is drinking lemon tea out of a ‘Sooty at the railway station’ mug.  She calls me Malcolm and says Mary’s carpet makes her eyes go funny.

 

Gemma congratulates me on being a Gemini.  She tells me that her teacher was late for Classics (on November 27th) and she had a ‘very intellectual conversation’ about life, the universe and ME, with a girl called Kat Hill.  Who?

 

[See in 1988, etc. – Future Ritcherd]

 

Cathy, Mary’s younger sister, takes over at this point to call Mary ‘weard’ and describe her hair as ‘yucky’ and to say that she looks ‘like a palm tree in a bit of a state’.

 

Mary (Mary Helen Wilton) is turning ‘Goth’ and her dad’s saying he doesn’t like it.  It’s up to her, but I’m sure he’ll find a way of loving her for who she is. 

 

It’s coming home to me, more than it is to Mary, I think…

 

But what am I to become now?  My hair hasn’t been totally ‘up’ lately.  Just spiky/wispy flat.  And I like it.

 

Music?  I’m stepping backwards.  Mostly, I’m listening to Soft Cell, Marc Almond, Strawberry Switchblade, Human League, Visage, Sisters of Mercy.  So… what now? 

 

I can’t wait to get this term over.  Have some time off to recuperate.  Convalesce from this term.  1988 has got to be at least better than the worst bits of 1987. 

 

Flash, let’s get to Marrick Priory, like we talked about.  For god’s sake…

 

‘Night Train’ – Visage



 

The Equalizer is good.



 

I hate:

 

Narrow-minded bigots

Drugs

My clothes

 

I NEED SOME TIME IN A PLACE TO THINK.

 

‘discobopmesonic…’

 

This Visage album is excellent. 


Midge Ure or no Midge Ure.  I ain’t liked Visage this much since 1984/85.

 

‘The Pleasure Boys’ – Visage



 

Face this: really, I’m a quiet, shy character.  I don’t think I realised that until now.  I thought I was a noisy, extrovert party boy, but I don’t think I am.  I don’t really wanna be makin’ some scene.  I should work as a filing clerk at RADIO THREE.  That’s my level.

 

 



 

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Next time: ‘Another dream of BMW…’

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