Written into the front and the back of the diary are a number of things. There are the home addresses of Mr Parr-Whalley (why?), Vince Gooding and Kerry Munday, one of the boy’s who sat behind me in Mr Parr-Whalley’s tech drawing class. Apparently Kerry wanted me to send him ‘at least’ one box of chocolates and one packet of biscuits from back home. I never did.
There are also a number of books listed, which I presumably intended to read and never did – James Gregory’s Children of the Reich, George Renard’s Moment of the Predator, the renowned Biko by Donald Woods, Deluge by Richard Woods, The White Ship by Ian Cameron and Willis Hall’s My Sporting Life (with a particular note to read Chapter Eight, ‘Another Christmas Carol’). Needless to say, I have never read any of them, but I am surprised that my reading tastes then were so heavy on fiction. That has definitely changed.
There’s a list of all of my teachers, with the abbreviations which the school used for their names, and an incomplete list of the games of football which we played against the Under 14 side, including the scorers. The cassettes which I lost at camp are also listed, with their replacement costs, as are the home telephone numbers of Rod Hare and Sheelagh McKay. I wonder what would happen if I dialled them now?
There’s a note to buy ‘The Age of Plastic’ by The Buggles. I didn’t do that, either.
Finally, on what would be the inner front flyleaf if it were a book, there is the address of a girl named Alison Jones. But that is the next story.