Wednesday, February 12, 2003

History...?
I was leafing through an old diary today and came across this. Sorry it's so long, but hell. I was intense when I was 19! And not a little scary, looking back on it!

Wed. 30th July 1997

A rather slow day today. ... I need to be in touch with people. And that works both ways.

Poetry. Nothing much on that front. Why call yourself a poet when you aren't one? Is being a poet thinking about things poetically, or is it just a craft? I suppose it depends on the individual, on their commitment, on how much they write. Anne really is a writer - ever since I've known her she's always had something on the go and always something searching in terms of personality or people - or the self. I'm not a poet of anything in particular - I wonder if I ever will be?

The cover of the catalogue to 'Sublime Inspiration'In the afternoon went to an exhibition in the Abbott Hall Art Gallery in Kendal - Sublime Inspiration. The artistry of mountains, paintings and photos. A couple of superb Turners. Then back here.

The gatehouse, Pembroke CollegeWatched Morse in the evening - set in Pembroke College, Oxford. No shots filmed near the set of rooms I occupied for a night. Then I went out for a walk in the raining darkness. Dad says there have been a couple of guys hanging around here today with a notepad. They came up to the steps apparently, hanging round the car as well. Hope nothing happens - I'm not entirely sure it will but am sure that it's mostly unlikely - at leasst tomorrow. Gaytime TV starts in less than 5 minutes so will have to go. Back soon maybe.

-back- Dad doesn't want me to watch Gaytime TV - he hasn't said so but is uncharacteristically going to watch a film which is on at this time - and is avoiding my gaze. Bugger. And I thought he'd progressed a bit on that front. He seemed fairly relaxed about about my sexuality when it was touched upon earlier this week. He's just shifted in his chair, and is fiddling with things - sure sign that he's bored but his foot is going round and round so he doesn't want me to know. The time is past for that kind of limitation - it passed years ago in my opinion. That didn't stop him limiting at all, though.

How Head, for years 'our' cottage in Ambleside, Lake DistrictThis place seems so different from a year ago... Anne said in her letter that sometimes she thinks that she loves me and other times she knows she must not. I think I shock a lot of people. Anyway. No more now.

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