Wednesday 2 March 1988

I love this diary entry, it encapsulates the time and my vulnerability beautifully.  The Wednesday afternoon Sixth Form rugby match had long since been a ritual that I had not been enjoying, but today of all days things were summed up to a tee.  The team won: hurray!  Did I contribute to the victory?  No, I did not.  My place at loose- (though it may have been tight-) head prop had gone to a young usurper or tyrant to use the true meaning of that word.  Fair play to him, he wasn’t the problem, he was almost apologetic at playing in the team ahead of me.  No, the problem was in my head.  My chronic lack of self-confidence was once again coming home to roost along with a stubborn, procrastinatory streak which meant that there was no way that I would bother to do what was needed (lose a few pounds, sharpen up my pace) to get back into the team.  Still, I was able to get home for 5:30 – just in time for Neighbours.

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