VERY EARLY AM
I’m at my
Mum’s.
Even as I
write this, in the darkness, Freddie
is suffering what could well turn into another heart attack. I haven’t been feeling too close to him
lately and we rarely see eye to eye, but I hope he pulls through and gets well
– and VERY soon. It really is not nice
to see this kind of thing happening to him (or, indeed, anyone). He doesn’t deserve this agony and he doesn’t
deserve an untimely death. If there’s
anyone out there that answers the prayers of someone who believes prayers go
unheard, then please keep him safe. I
wouldn’t wish this, I wouldn’t wish death, upon anyone. And spare a thought for Betty, who loves him
dearly despite their recent differences, but most of all spare a thought for
little baby Chip, who truly loves
and needs his daddy.
I pray
for your deliverance, Freddie.
Later:
LATE
EPILOGUE
‘Sun King/Mean
Mr Mustard/Polythene Pam/She Came In Through the Bathroom Window’ – The Beatles
Work was
shite.
I also
rang two factories to find out if they had any jobs going. Nothing.
Typical. Can’t even get my
nightmare job. Pretty sure I’d be
rubbish in a factory, though.
OK, just
stay calm, Ritcherd. Save up your money and then you can work out how to go about seeking your
fortune. Like The Beatles did. They had to
do all the ordinary stuff first, and then
when they’d done all that they found a way of doing whatever they wanted. I’m telling myself this simply because if I
don’t then I’m going to fall into the pit again…
I rang Larry Goodgirl for help and he told me
I should send my CV to his theatre and apply for the Assistant Stage Manager job.
I have applied now, but given my sheer lack of experience in that area
of theatre I doubt I’ll get it.
Honestly? They’d be stupid to give
me the job.
Flash rang and I love hearing from
him. I hope life is happier for him at
the moment. Well, it seems to be anyway.
I’m going
to bed. I’ve to be up for a pile of shit
tomorrow, so I’ll probably have a cry whilst I’m in bed.
It makes
me sick.
I’m
reconsidering my options regarding the possibility of going to university now,
too.
Well, July is obviously reaching its end now,
isn’t it? Yes, I think so. On a suicidal note, it seems. Goodbye, July. I wish it could have been sweeter. August
approaches. I hope it brings hope.
Farewell
for now,
Ritcherd
xxx
[AND THAT’S HOW JULY 1990 ENDED,
FOLKS! WHAT IS HAPPENING TO
RITCHERD? IS HE REALLY LOSING
CONTROL? IN 1995 HE WILL TOTALLY
LOSE IT. HE WILL ALSO GO THROUGH MORE
CHANGE. BUT REST ASSURED, THE FUTURE
WILL BE BRIGHT (THOUGH OFTEN BLEAK) WITH LOTS OF STUFF GOING ON. I KNOW THIS BECAUSE I WRITE TO YOU FROM
1995. WHO REMAINS FIVE YEARS FROM
NOW? FLASH, LILITH, FERGIE, MAGGIE,
ELBOW AND STAN. ANYWAY. READ ON.
Ritcherd
ODEON CINEMA, ST ALBANS
18/AUG/1995]
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Next
time: ‘Miranda plans…’