Monday, August 24, 1981
A lazy morning lounging about playing a cricket game with Robert, Carol out on the lawn with the cat. At teatime we drove into town, to a 2nd hand bookshop there, where I bought a 1919 first edition of The Meaning Of The World Revolution by Hamilton Fyfe for 40p.
We passed an enjoyable evening looking at Robert’s books and talking about them; he’s reading Samuel Johnson’s works at the moment as part of a wider study of various poets/authors. At the dining table he delivered a monologue about his cynical view of society: "99% of people are morons"; "it feels like it's pointless doing anything when people are so ungrateful and selfish"; "I sometimes feel like I could go mad.". . . My contributions were limited to “Hmmm”s and “I agrees.” I think the natural outcome of his line of thought is suicide.
Today I was gripped by enthusiasm for art from the early decades of the twentieth century; André Breton, Dadaism, Surrealism, the Russian literary scene, etc. . . .