The Winterfood Diaries

The Winterfood Diaries

Sunday, 2 September 1990

Purgatory (and Notes From the Future)

PURGATORY 2nd SEPTEMBER

5pm

‘Money’ – The Beatles

I love my new BEATLES LPs.  They are all so diverse and varied, but with a unifying core, even – and this surprises me – With The Beatles.  It’s so good.  And Let It Be is great.

As Flash said, quite some time ago, I’d never have believed I would have been this much into THE BEATLES again.  Maybe now I’m out of the Teen Age it’s more credible to like them than it was…

Who gives a fuck?  I’m just dead pleased wi’ ‘em.

Things with Miranda are still both awful and fine.

So why are we perversely going through all this?

It’s just like all the other times: torment, agony, mind games, hassle.  Hate.  Love synonymous with hate.  It fucks yer off.  Then, somehow, in retrospect we both miss it.  It’s suicidal, sado-masochistic.  I don’t love her.  I’m beginning to see that my over-emotional intensities are based on nostalgia and alternatives, not anything concrete.

Eh?  What am I on about now?

I can’t wait to get away from here.  She can’t wait for me to go, but we’re still being amicable.

It’s all bad timing in a sense, of course.  My general, universal change of attitude doesn’t help.  Normally I would have conformed to her, fitted in, but I’m fed up with all this false crap.  I’m going through some sort of rebellion.  I don’t know what it is, but it’s anti-something.  It could be anything.  It’s probably just deeply personal more than anything.  It’ll pass soon, I know, but I think it will have some lasting significance on the rest of my life.  If you asked me how I’m ‘changing’, I couldn’t tell you, but I can feel that I am.  To see the difference, you’ll have had to have known me long before now.  These changes will lose me a lot of friends, no doubt, but it feels like a purge of characteristics and things I don’t like about myself; a clear-out of the system.  A rejection of all that ‘pomposity’ I’ve imbued myself with.  I’m talking in a more relaxed version of my native accent again – often forcing it just to get at Miranda.  I do like her a lot, but she’s part of the picture of my life that needs to be redrawn.  I’m trying to confront and affect the ‘problem areas’ of my life/mind because I know that, ultimately, the cause of all these problems is Ritcherd J. Winterfood.  There are just too many of him in here and not enough living hours in which to cater for them all.  I’ve noticed I’m swearing a lot more, too.  Didn’t really used to approve of that.

‘Power to the People’ – John Lennon

We’ve been to the pub today, and then a Caff.  She had a jacket potato, but I HAD to have sausage, egg ‘n’ chips and tea.  I haven’t eaten much lately.  

Fuck, I get pissed off with Miranda.  She even gets heavy about what clothes I wear (‘I don’t like that, take it off’) and I end up thinking, ‘Well look at you!  Piss off.’

It’ll be good to go.

She’s more of a snob than ever.  She’d lost that last year (in my opinion), but it’s rearing its fucking ugly head again. 

I’m also fed up of going out all the time ‘n’ all; spending tonnes of cash I don’t really have on food and booze.  Spending all that just so you can’t act silly and piss a lot!  Once in a while’s okay, but I’ve had enough now.  I don’t mind the acts themselves, but it’s the wanking money that gets me.  Especially as I feel obliged to buy Miranda’s drinks.  Is this what ‘seeing’ someone’s about?  Getting nothing useful done, coming in/on each other and then spending money you can ill afford in order to maintain each other’s interest?  I feel restless.  Fuck that.  I hate feeling obliged to go out as well.  Having to be sociable when you’re not in the mood.

‘Watermark’ – Enya

Tonight, we’re off out for a curry.  More fucking expense.  AND we’re off with two other girls, their boyfriends, and some other blokes I don’t know and don’t really need to know.  I’m not looking forward to it at all.

I felt as if I was TRIPPING today; dizzy and not really in control of my body.  Delayed worm effects?

I hope my ticket arrives tomorrow.

I got thinking about Suzi today, when Miranda was talking about her own abortion.  You might remember that Suzi got pregnant just after I finished with her in 1988, during her brief terms of endearment with Leighton and Stan.  I never heard anything more about it until 1989 when popular rumour seemed to suggest she’d had a baby.  Does this mean I have a baby somewhere or what?  Or maybe Leighton does?  Or Stan?  I’ve not really given it much thought.  I ought to talk to Stan about this.

Miranda’s asleep.  I reckon I’ve done her head in.  She started doing mine in, but I don’t think I honestly care anymore.

‘La Petite Fille de la Mer’ – Vangelis

FEMALE VISIONS  

I will only be happy when I have a creative female companion.  She will be my lover, my best friend, my mother and my mistress.  She will also be pretty much me.  But if she is anything, she needs to hold me and love and be a truly creative, happy, imaginative spirit.

Do I know any creative females that might be candidates?  I don’t think so.

I could be wrong, but I don’t know many instigators; only followers.  I want to be with someone who has ideas.  I can’t think of any female friends whose creative endeavours have truly impressed me before.  Or many male friends’ for that matter.

We’ll have to see, eh?  I’m not thinking about it hard enough.

But one day…

One.

Bastard.

                                                                        Day.

Later:

‘I Am the Walrus’ – The Beatles

NO, NO, NO, NOVICE, NOTICE, NOTRE DAME, NEUTERED MAN, NUTRITION, NEUTRINO, NO, NO, NO.  I’VE COME BACK.  I’VE CAME BOCK.  BOME MY CAVE < A BIT RUD THAT IF YOU CAN UNSCRAMBLE ITS MULTI-LAYERED PSEUDO-LOGICKS.  HEY!  HEY!  LISTEN TO ME.  ‘I AM THE WALRUS’.  LISTEN TO THAT.  IT’S GORGEOUS.  WE KNOW THIS ANYWAY, BUT I WANT YOU TO LISTEN TO IT FROM A NEW PERSPECTIVE.  IMAGINE YOU’RE FLOATING THROUGH SOME OTHER-DIMENSION, AND YOU SLOWLY COME ACROSS ‘I AM THE WALRUS’ AND YOU LISTEN + BUILD UP THE IMAGES FROM ITS ‘STORY’.  IMAGINE THEN, TOWARDS THE END, AS ALL THE OTHER EXTERNAL NOISES EMERGE THAT ‘I AM THE WALRUS’ IS LIKE A BUBBLE OF SOUND, AND YOU ARE RISING AWAY FROM IT.  ALL THE OTHER NOISES EXPLODING AROUND IT ARE OTHER BUBBLES YOU NEVER NOTICED BEFORE, AROUND ‘I AM THE WALRUS’, AS IF WHILST LISTENING YOU THOUGHT YOU WERE IN A SINGLE UNIQUE UNIVERSE, BUT AS YOU PULL AWAY YOU HEAR A MULTIVERSE.  WHOLE NEW WORLDS!  IT’S GORGEOUS!

Later:

8pm

‘Miss Clare Remembers’ – Enya

Miranda hates me, I can tell.

That’s okay, I don’t reckon much to her at all.  Same old story.  And different again, as usual.  She tells me she disapproves of her ‘character’ last year; what I saw of it was better than what she is now.  So was Miranda ’88.

I have known four Mirandas: Prologue, Second, Third, and Epilogue.  Prologue is closest to Epilogue in many ways, but Second and Third sit easily side-by-side.  I do not like Epilogue very much at all.  Second and Third were sexier, more mysterious and easier company.  Prologue and Epilogue are the shallow, slightly duller ones.  They’re not very me.  I don’t find them all that sexy, either.  Okay, we played around on Thursday and last night, but I once thought that it was a genuine ‘need’ in me.  Something I HAD to fulfil.  Now I just realise it’s just something she expects from her men.  I could have been anybody.  That’s been the amplifier for my more ‘rebellious’ nature of the last few days.  I’m learning the lesson again and this is probably it: CODA.

PLEASE, GOD, LET MY RAIL TICKET ARRIVE TOMORROW…

‘Memories of Green’ – Vangelis

Will I look back on this in a year’s time with longing?  If Miranda had been last year’s Miranda, dark, mysterious, long-haired and living in Wisbech, then things would perhaps be very different.  Does this therefore suggest that the success of any given emotional relationship is incumbent upon circumstances and situation?

I don’t renege on the emotions and feelings I’ve felt for her over this 5TH ANNIVERSARY; as I say, it’s need fulfilment rather than love.  But Miranda’s become something I don’t admire at all.  Something I’d hate to be.  I hope that after all this I can finally let her go.

We’ll have to see.

Something else that bugs me?  GOLDFINGER is on tonight and I can’t watch it because they haven’t got a telly here.


Miranda’s gone out now.  I elected to stay in and forget the curry.  When she returns, I expect she’ll be psychopathic and will cause a scene.  I also bet she’s extremely drunk.

[NOTE FROM THE FUTURE: Ritcherd, you immature, intolerant, petulant little twat.  Your self-absorption knew no limits, did it?  Yes.  I think of her now and I miss her.  I wonder where she is and what she’s doing.  She wanted you sexually and though you paint a negative picture, there were moments when it was clear you were mad about each other and perhaps even just a little bit in love.  AGAIN, you resisted the truth, and the potential of all that you could be.  I pray you will see her again one day and haven’t lost her for ever. – Ritcherd, June 1999]


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Next time: ‘Perceive…’

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