A look at yesterdays events in the cold light of day certainly changes the situation. I have come to the conclusion that last night's party was all part of a plot by Chris R to push Denise and I together. After me knocking back almost the whole of a bottle of whisky it is hardly surprising that he imagined it to have worked. I feel stupid now. All it has done is make poor Denise confused. I fell into a ditch last night and this morning am covered in scratches. The alcohol in my blood deadened the pain. For the greater part of the day I felt as if I'd drunk a bottle of disinfectant. School was uneventful and I returned home at 4.45. Uncle Harry had just arrived, boasting he'd been drunk since New Year's Eve. He brought a massive quantity of drink with him and he left for a nightclub in York at 6.15. He must be dreadfully lonely. By 9pm I couldn't keep my eyes open. The Christmas tree and decs came down today.
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Saturday March 21, 1987
Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ As you have no doubt fathomed by now our plans to move from the Moorhouse have grounded on the rocks of apath...
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