Written 29 October 1989
P and I got up late, but gained an hour as the clocks had gone back. Read the paper for a bit, then we went for one of our long walks, despite the rain, and ended up in Battersea Arts Centre again.
We sat by a large window, ordered cider and cauliflower cheese, looked out at the rain and occasionally made snide remarks about people at other tables. There was an individual we had seen there before, to whom we referred sardonically as ‘the New Man’. He was obviously quite well off, but wore an ancient woolly jumper with gaping holes at each elbow. He was ostentatiously affectionate towards a little brat who was running wild. P and I decided that he worked in computers and was a local Labour Party activist. Continue reading
The road to God knows where ... Brendan O'Brien 