Community centre

We were all out of the house before eight, Wilmot and Spike rolling around in miniature, silent combat. Robert and Carol dropped me off at Dearnelow bus station, the day foul, rainy, and grey. I got into Easterby for eleven and met Robin Quinn at the bus stop. He told me about his weekend caving trip through Gill Beck Pot which took him eight hours and sounded really strenuous.

44 Fearnfield Drive: Grant greets me in a paint spattered old jumper and we have the house to ourselves as his family is on holiday in Torquay. We while away an hour talking and playing weird obscure LPs on minute labels a lot of which are really good (different) but I'm left feeling like a real pseud because I achieve nothing and pale in the face of possible ridicule and denunciation.

The weather relented somewhat and so we went into Easterby, talking all the way, going straight to Praxis, where I bought another Kerouac novel (Doctor Sax) and a copy of Freedom, the anarchist fortnightly, just to see how it stands up. In a list of nationwide anarchist/pacifist groups at the back I found an address for an anarchist ‘community centre’ at Royden , and although at first the general appearance of it put me off, as I read the mag' I found it sensible and I agreed with much of it. Grant and I stopped for a coffee at a tiny café on Leckenby Road and ended up in HMV before we caught the bus back to Lodgehill where we behaved stupidly and sang duets because we were bored.

I was in such a good and confident mood when I left but I find it annoying that the feeling evaporates in 'real life.' I watched a good programme on Picasso when I got home. It's sad to think that the Picassos of the world should have to die.