…I have a new wardrobe in my room.
Well, actually it’s more a kind of wardrobe/cupboard/shelf/draw/unit type thing.
Spent much of the day deciding what to put in it and where.
Tried to ring Mum at work but the switchboard woman put me through to a complete
stranger, the silly fool.
Tried to make a cake but it turned into a sloppy mess that looked like sick.
My sister’s Brownie group went to a panto and for some reason families could
go as well, so we were all dragged along.
It was TOO NOISY BY FAR…
It was around this time that I took against pantomimes. I became increasingly annoyed, not to say a little alarmed, at their Nuremberg rally-esque undertones: crowds whipped into hysteria by tinpot figures strutting about on a stage, thousands encouraged to idolise one person and despise another, and worse of all the audience participation. I became terrified at the mere likelihood of someone roaming around the auditorium looking for “volunteers” (itself a contradiction in terms). I hated seeing others brought up on to the stage, even if they appeared to be enjoying themselves. And I loathed, absolutely loathed, the way the “volunteers” would then be alternately patronised and ridiculed in front of everyone, the harsh theatre lights illuminating their every wince and tear.
Many of these attitudes were soon transferred over to life in general – but that’s adolescence for you, and something best left under the tarpaulin.