Wednesday, July 28, 1982
Grant was already up and blundering quietly about when I woke up. I was going to leave early but he suggested we go see a poster exhibition at Hainsworth Hall.
The posters were very good, all American and more thoughtful and artistic than their GB counterparts. There was even one advertising a memorial to Kerouac which pictured him standing as a spike-hatted Buddha before an idyllic scene of a road to mountains beneath cloud-flecked summer skies. Downstairs, Indian craftsmen and women performed to a crowd bearded self-sufficients and kaftanesque stereotypes in long flowing skirts.
Robert rang shortly after I got back home, asking anxious questions about Athletic and telling me about his trip to the amazing Rainsley Hill: “I was stopped four times by Rastas and asked if I wanted to buy drugs. I want to go back there again . . . it’s another world,” and so on.
After Tesco, Mum was upset because Dad has put in his resignation from the police today: he'll retire in August. She was crying when she said, “I remember when he was young, striding out with all his life ahead of him and now it’s all just gone.” Dad offered up a despairing reassurance that sounded a bit half-hearted. He has no job to go to.
Cool and overcast today, but brighter later.