Saturday 6 February 1988

…Ronald Reagan was 76 or 77 years old today.
And I was 12.
I got some clothes, £10, a notepad, a mini stationery set, two films for my camera,
a board game, a writing set and something else that I’ve forgotten.
I have a grand total of six cards.
I’m not having any sort of party, as I don’t want one,
and nobody would have come anyway.
But I’m writing this early in the evening, because there is a 007 film on in a bit.
It is one I haven’t seen: The Man With the Golden Gun.
I wonder if it will be any good…

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Today, exactly two years on from when I started this blog, seems a good time to bring things to a close.

Anyone looking in even semi-regularly will have felt the last few months’ extracts turn increasingly, not to say noxiously, adolescent. Despite my best efforts to undercut everything with latterday flippancy, there’s no disguising the hastening of great gales of self-obsession, sulks and, worse of all, self-pity.

I’ve also been omitting more and more bits of the original text, and sometimes not reproducing anything from the diary for days on end, which completely undermines the whole point of this blog.

So it’s time to throw a damp towel over proceedings before the smouldering gets too much to bear.

Thanks to everyone who has left comments and been in touch. It’s been nice to know some of what I’ve published has struck a chord or prompted other memories that people have been willing to share.

The newly-12-year-old me would continue his diary, starting with impressions of yet another keenly-anticipated James Bond film.

But that, and everything else to follow, is best left unsaid, on his behalf let alone that of everyone else.

Instead, let’s leave him here, in blissful ignorance at how the next few hours, along with the next few years, will turn out.

Saturday 30 January 1988

…This evening I went to Luke’s birthday party.
All the way through I kept trying to get us to watch Octopussy on the TV,
which was getting its premiere, instead of the film which Luke had rented,
which was called Stand by Me.
There were only about five of us there.
By the time the party finished – well, you couldn’t really call it a party – Octopussy
was halfway through and I rushed home to try and watch some more…

Ouch. What awful behaviour. And I never said sorry.

Here we see my foothold slipping on the edge of the ravine that is full-on, selfish, nauseating adolescence.

You wouldn’t think it from this, but:
a) Stand by Me is now one of my all-time favourite films
b) I knew Luke for another 10 years or so, but neither of us ever mentioned this party or what I did.

I’m not sure what’s worse: never apologising, or going for so many years not thinking I needed to apologise.

Damn you Roger Moore and your horsebox-sized jet plane!

Sunday 15 November 1987

…This afternoon I watched a silly James Bond film that went wrong because
they made it too funny…

WHAT AM I SAYING?! The 11-year-old me could not have been more wrong. I have come to fully and sincerely love Casino Royale, which I’m happy to argue is one hundred times more fresh, imaginative and downright entertaining than the Daniel Craig remake.

In 1987 I was still struggling to tell good Bond from bad Bond, not having fully recovered from reading three Ian Fleming novels and discovering none of the best bits from the films were in them. But nonetheless I was lapping up every trace of 007 I could see and hear, including a Sunday afternoon airing for, among others, these exceptionally fine two minutes of cinema:

Tuesday 6 October 1987

…In Expressive Arts things have got worse.
It was Dance and it was pretty ridiculous.
We were greeting people using movements, and having to walk in funny ways.
There was no dancing at all!
Raiders of the Lost Ark was on this evening but I only got to watch half of it…

Or rather, I was only allowed to watch half of it. I’m not sure my parents were aware that I’d already seen this film – moreover, had watched it AT SCHOOL, and over a year ago.

Sunday 27 September 1987

…I’ve got to hurry because on tonight is a 007 FILM!
It is Never Say Never Again, the one that got its premiere last Christmas.
ITV clearly think it is a good one, or else why would they show it again so soon?…

Well, quite.

I continue to enjoy defending this film as one of the best Bonds of the 80s, although admittedly the competition is not stiff. In fact, it’s only really beaten by Octopussy, which came out in the same year (1983). Give me witty, sarcastic Connery over the grumpy, uptight 1960s version any day.

Here is one of the best sequences. Bond runs down some steps to the sound of freeform jazz. Fatima Blush laughs maniacally. Bond rides a motorbike that has big buttons coloured red, yellow and blue. He slides under a lorry like Frank Spencer, only better. And so on. There is NOTHING not to like here: