17 February 1983
This is a mess.
I know that I should be the last person in the world who most people should have an opinion on whether or not someone else should get married, I'm just the whore halfblood that Padraic Ockley married (their words, not mine). But Melisande is making a mess and Padraic's skived.
Every time I open this up, I talk about someone else's problems. I don't know have that many, I reckon, which is good. I have what I want, I wanted Padraic and now I have him.
I don't know, I just hate that Padraic is upset about it, it's hard to watch. I don't know if Melisande knows what she's doing or not, she's not my friend, I don't hate her, as much as everyone would just eat that up if I did. And she's not listening to him.
It's just frustrating to sit and watch Padraic be frustrated about it.
And the Bats play the Magpies Sunday. I don't have to work, I'm going to the match.
I'm ready for it to be warm again, I'm tired of the cold rain.