✿

Away from the ground, the crowds gone, this rough forecourt littered now, not with the photos of the Heavy Mob, unfortunately, I look, but just with litter, programmes, I keep mine, still, I always used to keep them, still do, for reference, am neurotically attached to any piece of paper which has had anything to do with me, why, no doubt neurotic, psychotic, one of those words, but I am proud, is that the word, no, certainly not, satisfied, self-satisfied, that I can do this job, pleased with my new professionalism, that I can write to these tight deadlines, and to these precise lengths, can get both exactly right, have never fallen down on either, yet: when I first started Zulf told me that was the most important thing, from their point of view, not the quality of the writing, but meeting deadlines, getting it through on time, at the right length. Which I have done. The satisfaction of having earned the money, the only satisfaction, really, earned, yes, today, a reasonable report, need not think of it again, now, until the morning, when I see what the bastards have done to it, yes, a reasonable report, despite the match, despite Tony, all that this city means, this bridge, to walk across, how wide it seems now, no one about, it begins to rain, the rain thin like                     Images for rain are common, I cannot think of one, I do not need to think of one, really, for what purpose?

This shop, yes, newsagents, in this street, must have been this one, or one very like it, with the Confessions magazines outside it, yes, Tony and I spent hours in one once, this one, probably, he was doing an article on mass communication, ha, a contradiction in terms, or some such socio- logical crap, I think, I was amused at field work in this kind of place, reading the magazines myself, their mixture of sex and medicine, I seem to remember, curious, I was amused, but I read anything, anything written has something to teach me, some interest for me. What use is that?

Timetable, Inter-City, Midland, yes, not Victoria station, 17.55, I've missed that one, no not quite, but I will do, on purpose, there's another one at 19.00, restaurant car, too, gets in about 21.00 which is 9, yes, I can tell Ginnie about it then, Tony, will not feel too tired to do that, if I want to, if I need to, as I feel, need now, to tell her, I'll see.

This pub, then, what signs of venerableness does it bear, to be seen, claiming to be one of the oldest in England? Black beams, low ceilings, but preserved in various ways, varnish, worm repellent, that detract from the seeing of age, prevent me from venerating it. Which leaves me with only association.                                This room, yes, I recognize instantly as being one where Tony and June and Wendy and I sat, yes, but why should that seem remarkable, it was only a few years ago, the memory is not that bad, I am overdramatizing this, his death, this place, these occasions.                   But this is still a place for students, this room. Their promising faces, six students where the four of us sat ten years ago, was it, something like that, rexine seats, life goes on, ha, bring on Fortinbras and cart the corpses off.                      Castiron garden tables, look original, not found, the old built-in kicked cupboard, brass fittings, most of this looks Victorian, older in one sense than the eighteenth and earlier, the rooms carved from the friable sandstone, that is now to me a cliché, everything is reducible to a cliché, the action of carbonic acid on limestone.                                               I'll have another sherry, I used to drink beer then but do not now, so much, there's another change, it's meaningless, though, it all is, this wallowing in recollection, stupid even, as well, I mean, where does it lead, there we were, students then, there these still are, students now, and so?                 Here it was he talked about the RAF. So?                  So must others, for ever, or talk about something like it, and it does not matter to them, now, it cannot have mattered at any time to me, so why this, if it is so meaningless, anything means something only if you impose meaning on it, which in itself is a meaningless thing, the imposition.

Another sherry, it takes so long, a double this time.                In another room there is the game with the ring, the horn. Could play, at least go in there and see.               No. What point?                      The ceiling lining-papered-over, irregular, paper probably holding it up, no, perhaps, but                    brown.           The fire place rough, piano.                   They laugh, some look at me. I am bizarre.          Both are meaningless.                         Unfortunately.                                   All.                                                                                                                                                                                                            So?