Monday 10 March 1986

Oh dear.  Another one of those nondescript days that seemed to punctuate my childhood.  ‘Boring.  Got a lot of French homework.’  YOU ARE SIXTEEN, EVERYDAY SHOULD BE A JOY, FIFTY YEARS AGO, YOU’D HAVE BEEN DOWN A PIT, WORKING A TWELVE HOUR DAY OR MORE.  Pfft!

I then add insult to injury by describing my mate as ‘childish’.  Him childish, take a good look nearer to home sonny Jim.  (Apparently, he nicked my bag, so I beat him up.)  Two things spring to mind:

a) Yes he probably did nick my bag, and;

b) Quite what I meant by ‘beat him up’ is unclear and more than likely a gross exaggeration of what actually happened.

And the final, piece de resistance… wait for it… ‘Nothing much on the television.’  BL***Y UNGRATEFUL PEASANT.

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