11th May 2016
Blog Post #2: Hastings Speaks
In the spirit of Hastings Speaks, I decided to rifle through some of my old diaries. I was an insufferable, pretentious, Adrian Mole-esque adolescent:
I was reading an old diary yesterday and it was hilarious. Such a David Brent.
I was looking at a book of Andy Warhol’s diaries and felt bad about how packed with anecdotes his were. But then I remembered that he was Andy Warhol and was always busy. Usually I just sit around at home all day so there’s not much to tell.
The train from Ore to Victoria was gentle. I listened to Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets for the most part, as well as watching a brown Labrador lying down a few seats ahead. Did I say that dad’s got another cat? It’s called Blackie. Number 6. Apparently it would’ve been put down if he didn’t take him so it’s for the best I suppose.
Saw dad yesterday. We were walking along the high street to get to the restaurant – I was walking a little behind. A jogger caught up with me, and then moved on to get past my father and sisters (who occupied the entire pavement). When I reached the gaggle, dad turned around and pretended to do a ‘karate’ punch on me. Dad went ‘huh!’ really loudly – the jogger got the fright of his life. He jumped, stopped, stared at dad and sprinted away.
I’m in Hastings and it’s glorious, as ever. We’re about to go up the East Hill for a Sunday picnic. What a sanctuary.
Mum got some birthday cards in the post. One had been slit down the side – someone checking to see if there was money inside. Disgusting. Luckily it was from S, who doesn’t send money. Never send cash in the post.
On Friday we went to H’s flat’s Christmas dinner. Dire. It was like the Christmas Party in The Office – so I could appreciate it from that perspective at least. People like T were decrying our music choice, slandering Suede as ‘just people shouting’ (he was bolstered by beer, of course). L demanded that we put on ‘Christmas’ music. I love going to H’s flat and making them all listen to Morrissey, knowing that they hate it.
On Tuesday the pub was a bit dismal – partly because G was there, and he’s transformed from his endearing, bumbling idiot self into quite an insensitive, hostile person.
Today I’ve been working, holed up in my room writing a Beowulf essay. Until about half 5 when I went and laid on the grass in the park and stared at the sky. Good weekend.
M is 21 next month so I’m going to Birmingham for his party. No doubt it’ll be awful. But H is coming so I can be with him.
Friday: there was a flat gathering at R’s. B got horrifically drunk (on three cans of cider) and he was behaving like he was on a bad trip. Mood swings, crying, shrieking, stripping, dancing on the counter and bashing his head on the table. He kept telling everyone that they mean ‘everything’ to him. Wish it was reciprocated.
Thanks for reading. Please send completed diary entries to Hastings Speaks on Thursday May 12th.