22/06/2002
Am typing this on 23rd, cos was too tired. So, the big day. Was a mixture of massive disappointments and half successes. England lost, after a decent first half performance. I knew when Rivaldo scored just before half time that we'd lose. Was a weird atomsphere in the quiet room where everone was watching the game. Saw stupid 2nd goal go in. Perhaps the match helped me concentrate in the Engliah exam, which was OK. The questions were hard, but (hopefully) I coped pretty well with them. Picking up suit was easy, but mostly because I was accompanied by Luckett and Slawson.
Wearing the suit was pretty shitty, and I looked like a twat. Dad was well behaved on journey.
The Ball was..well, good. The worst thing was that I was shoved to the end of the table, so I couldn't sit with any of those I was sposed to. But Slawson and Dansey were more than suitable company. The meal was horrible.
Quite enjoyed seeing two of my teachers, Mr Bourne and Mr Payne, drunk out of their minds. And enjoyed having a dance with some of the ladies. Didn't get off with anybody. How suprising.
Met a few boyfriends of girls I know, which was quite nice. I had too much to drink, but disguised it from my Dad pretty well.
And I'll never forget Helen in *that* dress. Nice.
20/06/2002
Just got back from sitting my Vietnam paper. Hmm. Twas on Nixon, which I revised, but not in enough detail. We were told it would be on the Tet Offensive. We were told wrong.
Will have to go to the Ball with my Dad. Which will probably involve getting lost somewhere. Tmrw England play Brazil, the 2nd half of which goes on whilst I am sitting my English Exam. Which I feel sure I've mentioned before. My plan is to avoid score, come home (hopefully with fellow suit picker uppers) watch, cheer, cry go and pick up suit. ANOTHER thing I'm dreading.
I'm sure you can tell I'm not at my happiest at the moment. It's partly the exams, but this Ball/Football thing is really bothering me at the mo. It just seems like the Gods are conspiring against me. Bastards.
18/05/2002
Thursday provided a visit to The Crown, a charming Pub in Ingatestone which I had been once before. During our time here, we met some characters, two of which stood out to me.
As I am not a really regular pub visitor, I've no idea whether these kind of people are common in Pubs, but to me, they were curios, relics, fascinating creatures.
The first to approach was a man with a ponytail. Ponytails always suggest Rock, afternoons spent at Donnington in the mid-80's and years putting Black Sabbath and Deep Purple on the pub jukebox. He looked a state, uncouth, leery and particularly aggressive. He wanted to play pool, and he couldn't as me and Jack were. When told he may have to wait for his turn, he reacted by offering to "put all the balls into the pockets". Here is a man who uses if not violence, then clearly force to get his way. I felt scared when he was near me.
As the evening wore on, we again encountered him. He got talking, if that isn't too strong a word, to Jack, who seemed nervously sure of himself. When I realised Jack was talking to our ponytailed friend, I quickly removed myself form the banal conversation that my peers were having, and moved myself into a position to hear them. That constant menace was still dectable in his voice, even though now there was no pool to be played. He was questioning Jack as to his age, as was clearly disbelieving as to Jack's (true) claims that he was 18. Here was an ageing man confronted with the harsh reality of youth. Had Jack been under 18, then he would've been dismissed as a 'kid' as something to ignore, something to shun away. But no, Jack, and all of us, were the real deal, a collection of males at the prime of their lives, all standing on the cliff of expectation, some of us ready to jump, others to linger on the edge. He decided to brag about how long he had been drinking in The Crown, as he saw that experience was his only route of victory over the freshness of our faces. He wanted to reassert his authority, to prove to 'kids' like Jack that they should respect their elders. I decided to remain a silent member of the conversation, as my somewhat drunk mouth may have landed me (and us) is trouble.
Our other friend was even more fascinating, and considerably more genial. An apparent friend of Ponytail man, he was a short, slight man, with thinning hair and thick glasses. He was another clinging to youth by his grimy fingernails, and he joined in the conversation once his more aggressive friend had departed. The TV was showing the "Without Me" Eminem video, and he suddenly declared his love for both Eminem and this specific video. This music related comment was my cue to enter the discourse, I was on ground that was both common and safe. He was clearly drunk, if not extremely, but he soon began discussing his slightly laxadazical attitude to life. His boast that he liked Eminem was a clear attempt for credibilty amongst what he was concerned was a credible corwd. (Which we are...sort of). He decided to make me and Jack , and then the entire groups guess his age. Sarcastic calls of mid 20's were the order of the day, but my guess was somewhat nearer. In all honestly, I thought late 40's. I said, in my own pathetic plea for safety, 39. He was in fact 44. His apperance screamed of a man who had wasted his life. His philosophy on life was one of doing very little, and of running away and doing littler when trouble arose. Here was a man who was maybe unemployed, and almost certainly single, a man who had presumbly spent the best years of his life doing nothing, and now he had even less to show for it. It made me angry, but it also made me determind to succeed, to become something more than someone who spent 5 nights a week in the same pub, using the alcohol as a shield from the horrors of a vacous, empty existence.
Probably.
|
|
