Atrocity Exhibition

The day began hot, but deteriorated by evening. We spent our time wandering around the streets of Hengarrow, which were pleasantly rural and nondescript, frequenting bookshops mainly. . . . I bought Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and a May ’68 book of love poems. Grant bought Ballard’s The Atrocity Exhibition.

In the evening we drifted through twilight urbanity to the park and a much graffitied concrete shelter and talked about art again. There’s so much to do, to read, to write, the theatre, film, concerts, books . . . yet so little time with ‘A’ levels. But I should never ever be bored.

It isn’t feeling like a holiday anymore. The routine is now familiar.