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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The journal of a Yorkshire lad from the age of 17 in 1973 through several decades .... Transcribing from handwritten volume to blog may take some time ...
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Wednesday September 4, 1985
Moorhouse Inn Overcast - me and the weather. The alarm sounded at 7 but Ally switched it off for half an hour. Felt groggy and could have s...
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Moorhouse Inn 2nd Sunday in Lent with dear Phyllis. Drizzle. Up for a full-English. Samuel is much better behaved without the influence of ...
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Moorhouse Inn Cold and quiet. Dave Glynn phoned tonight but Ally and I were in the cellar, and when we phoned back Lily said that David has...
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