62) Old diary pages
It’s Monday night, the 2nd of January 1995. I’m sitting on the sofa. It’s 10:17, and shortly I’ll be off to bed. I’m back to work tomorrow after three days of holiday. I’ve done two loads of washing, the dusting and vacuuming, a hundred piles of dirty dishes, cleaned the oven, the bathroom, and sorted out the cupboard in the kitchen, and the cupboard under the stairs. I’ve done the grocery shopping, washed the windows, visited mum and dad, popped over to wish the neighbours a Happy New Year, been shopping with Midge, eaten pizza with Midge, watched a movie with Sands, driven a couple hundred miles, read a bit more of Winkey Pratney, eaten a number of wine gums, watched the Barbra Streisand concert I videoed, eaten my way through the tub of peanuts left over from Christmas, been to Holy Trinity, had at least two conversations on the phone with Sands, wished I had a Café Crème to smoke, done the ironing, listened to the radio for a while, let the milk run over while trying to make custard and watch TV at the same time, seen a particularly good Steve Martin film on the TV on Monday night, applied no end of E45 to my dry skin patches, spent far too long scraping the milk-burnt saucepan, taken a moment or two to straighten the books on the shelves, put the kettle on more times than I’ve had tea or coffee, tried on the clothes I bought myself with mum and dad’s Christmas money, sat quietly and prayed for guidance and help for the new year, sat not so quietly and listened to the Counting Crows on the hi-fi, stared out the kitchen window at the sheep and the Welsh hills in the distance, remembered all the things I did last year that I shouldn’t have done, remembered all the cruel things said to me last year that shouldn’t have been said, performed near major surgery on the spot on my chin, turned the heating up as the temperature outside dropped, watched helplessly as the Russians invaded the Chechen capital on the news, drifted away listening to old records, wished time hadn’t flown by so quickly, wished I wasn’t still lonely.
Just watched the hands of the clock turn round to 10:55. Wish I didn’t have to go back to work in the morning. Wish I was still smoking.
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It's Sunday evening, the 28th of December 2025. I’m at the dining room table looking at the garden. The sun will set any minute now. I’m back to work tomorrow after four days of leave. The weather has been too warm today, though on Christmas Day it was perfect. I can smell the garden through the open bedroom windows. I’ve done the usual weekend chores – the laundry, ironing, changing the sheets, dusting and vacuuming, taking the recycling out. I nipped out just for bread and milk – the kitchen cupboards are still too full of other food. It seems I shopped for the Apocalypse. In the garden, I’ve weeded the patio by hand, trimmed and shaped the olive trees and the wild potato vine, deadheaded the roses, and harvested lemons to give to my next-door neighbour. I’ve also pulled out so much of the wretched jasmine that persists in trying to conquer the world by twisting itself through everything. Rod came over and we walked the boardwalk at Witton Bluff in the sunshine before heading home to watch a movie. I visited with the Greeks, listened to a Blondie reissue sent by a friend from Ireland, read the next chapter from my Franciscan textbook on Bonaventure, and kept up my daily obedience. I read some more of my novel and cooked a lovely spinach, olive and ricotta pasta. I drunk wine too. I’ve been instructed by the cardiologist to stop drinking completely, so New Year’s Eve will be the end of that. In dismay, I watched more violations of the ceasefire in Gaza, and reports on the rise of authoritarianism around the world. I retreated for a while through the pages of old journal entries – thinking about the past, and surprising myself at how much never changes. I chatted online briefly with my sisters and a mate back home, and with Midge, too, who I sent that old 1995 diary page to. How could 31 years have gone by in such a flash? I hadn’t even met D when I wrote that diary entry. Who knew on that day that I was on the brink of moving up north and unravelling my whole life? If I could go back and do things over, that’s the first move that I’d undo. Erase the whole ’95 to ’97 chapter. Every bit of it. How did Chris Pureka put it:
“rewind the tape while your back is turned, fold my arms and pull the curtains closed, bury the roses in the backyard and darlin’ never mind what I might have said, before, before, God damn my wasted time, ringing all the bells…”
Though I suppose none of it’s truly wasted time. I mean, how else do we learn who we are, if it’s not for discovering who we’re not. And without Bradford, there wouldn’t have been Kent. No, nothing’s ever completely wasted.
It is funny how that old diary page mentioned The Counting Crows. I used to love that band. They sing,
“A long December and there's reason to believe maybe this year will be better than the last
I can't remember all the times I tried to tell my myself to hold on to these moments as they pass”
I do hold onto things. Maybe I could let some of it go this year.
Midge sent me an autographed book of lyrics from Thea Gilmore for Christmas. She had queued up after a concert to get it signed for me. I love how Thea has signed it to Wol, which is the name only my closest friends call me. A name of home and history and belonging. Another friend who I love dearly sent me a sketch he’d made for me of a flower. And another sent me a writing journal with Saints Francis and Claire on the cover. I am a lucky man. These precious things. These precious people. God, keep these people in my life. They help with my loneliness.
Thea released a new song this week for the turning of the year. Sings Thea,
“The simple resolution – I love you, oh I love you, oh I love you.
I wish you strong, I wish you brave,
I wish you all the music left to hear.
I wish you love, I wish you heart,
I wish you hope at the turning of the year.”
I know there won’t be nearly enough time to listen to all the music left to hear. I think Midge is coming back to Adelaide in a month’s time. I think we should take a roadtrip to the Grampians and replay all the old songs.
It's Sunday evening, the 28th of December 2025. I’m at the dining room table looking at the garden. The sun will set any minute now. I’m back to work tomorrow after four days of leave. The weather has been too warm today, though on Christmas Day it was perfect. I can smell the garden through the open bedroom windows.
Olly Ponsonby, Jan 1995 and Jan 2026
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“rewind the tape…” lyrics by Chris Pureka, Chris Pureka © 2006 (Sad Rabbit Music, ASCAP) https://chrispureka.com/dryland-lyrics
“A long December…” lyrics by Adam Duritz, 1996, © 2026, Counting Crows - All Rights Reserved https://www.countingcrows.com/song/a-long-december
“The simple resolution” lyrics by Thea Gilmore, 2025, https://www.musixmatch.com/lyrics/Thea-Gilmore/The-Turning
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