In early 1991 I developed an obsession with politics. This persisted throughout the next four years or so. I used to talk about it constantly.
On Sunday 20th, January 1991, my paternal Grandfather, Thomas Phillips, celebrated his 70th birthday. Virtually all his family and his sister Frances Barrett, who died in February 1994, aged 84, descended on the Boatman's Rest Pub, for a meal. There, I got into a discussion with an uncle about World War II. Afterwards, we went back to my dad's sisters house. I had a conversation with Frances about the 1926 General Strike, and she said that she played football during those nine days in a women's team. I wondered if she was a striker! I thought that perhaps her recollection was a memory lapse, but in May 2010, long after Frances's death, there was a photograph of a ladies football team in the local newspaper, and she was in it. I remember talking to the same uncle I had the conversation about World War II, about Churchill, about Roosevelt and then American Presidents.
On Friday, 25th January 1991, at Secondary School, in French, we were asked a question about something that we dislike. I can't remember the precise circumstances, as time has blurred my memory somewhat, but I said something about not liking Horse Manure as a smell, and everybody started laughing, apart from myself, who didn't quite understand what was so funny. I can't even remember what I said, just my puzzlement at everybody finding the incident hilarious.
I remember at the end of March 1991, asking my cousin's later-to-be husband how tall he was. He was, and still is, quite diminutive. Before he answered I replied, "Five-two aren't you?". He answered, quite tetchily, "Something like that, yes".
On Sunday, 14th April 1991, my cousin's daughter was christened, and for some reason, I didn't go. Instead, I stayed in alone, to watch two FA Cup semi-finals on TV, Tottenham Hotspur v Arsenal (Spurs won 3-1. Gazza scored a brilliant free-kick) and Nottingham Forest v West Ham (Forest won 3-1). I wanted Forest to win the FA Cup that year because it was the only trophy the late Brian Clough had never won in his managerial career, but they lost 2-1 to Spurs in the final. That day, having not gone to the christening, I didn't feel alone at all. I didn't miss the crowds and felt rather happy alone watching the semi-finals. Even then, I hated a lot of people around me at once, crowds and parties and similar events.
On Tuesday, 7th May 1991, I remember getting into a discussion with the gentleman involved in the incident on Sunday 9th September 1990 (Read about my behaviourial habits during 1990 to see what), about politics, Prime Ministers, Winston Churchill, Richard Dimbleby and other matters, at my Aunt's house.
