JOURNAL - 1980 - JULY

1 July 1980

I am so fucking conscious of the beginning of the second half of the year. Today, again, wretched tears came. I don't know what else I can do.

17 July

Like starting life from scratch again as, neither more nor less, one of the crowd. See how I write nothing these days.

25 July, Woodford

What is it about this fayre that I cannot help but despise? The lawns are cut with scissors, the bushes trimmed to a fine art, the paths marked out with green coloured arrows, and all the flowers are so respectfully arranged. The garden is but the loud mouth of the house. People here are wallowing in a self-congratulatory summer haze, just as I wallow in my despising. In particular, I cannot forget the stall of labelled horse shoes which was run by a young couple. I could see their eyes widen whenever anyone showed interest in their collection. Then they would start to tell how it is the very largest collection of antique horse shoes in south Hampshire, and yes, of course, they do belong the horse accessory collectors association of Great Britain (HACAGB for short). I hate this despising in me.

Sunday 27 July

I have to decide to commit myself to one form of work whether it be market research, the theatre or teaching, but at this stage I cannot afford to make a mistake. There are various possibilities open to me but I have to decide on one and go for it. I must accept that market research is probably as interesting fundamentally as any other career. But, having written that, I cannot accept it. So many imponderables. I proceed day after day trying to answer the unanswerable. I have to make compromises. But, when my flat in Iverson Road is ready to move into, I must set myself a writing routine. Most writers says they have disciplined themselves to working set hours.

Rosina and I seem to be living like man and wife. There is so much warmth between us, tender nights and laughter, almost harmony. Her breasts full and round in the palm of my hand, her smile free and wide across my lips. Days in thoughtlessness pass, our hands held, looks exchanged, strawberries fed to each other. But, in these days, I am a coward. Standing alone I take no risks, I wallow in the harmony, safe and protected. The simple melody of Leyton and Rosina's love. Now things will change. I have a new home. I have a greater freedom of movement, and my living space is lighter. I must go out into the streets and houses and people's faces and take decisions, spit and smile, shout and whisper, clasp and fling, show the surface of the planet the metal that I am. I have foundations.

Bel cannot decide if we have a platonic relationship or not. She says she thinks of me as a platonic friend. Yet she knows as well as I that our kisses are passionate. However, she cannot justify a sexual relationship that has no ties or jealousies involved.

Paul K Lyons

August 1980

 

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