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Moab is my WashpotI have memories of Kathleen and the Corvo set, I have memories of Phil and Dale and cards, I have memories of organising films to show for the Film Society. I have memories of trying to dance to Slade and Elton John at Union discos. I remember the unknown band Judas Priest coming to give a concert. I remember the little acting I did. The greatest educational stimulation at this time, oddly, seemed to come from History of Art. I became obsessed in particular with architecture, the Greek orders, the Gothic orders, Michelangelo, and then the English House, the Gothic revival and the Victorians. My bible was Bannister Fletcher and my God was Inigo Jones. I am ashamed to say I cannot even remember what texts were set for English or for French. Hold up… for French it was Anouilh’s Antigone again. That’s it, I fear, that’s the sum of my memories of King’s Lynn in my second year there. I sat the A levels – most of them, ducking out of the final papers of French and English. Fear of failure again: ‘Of course I failed! I didn’t even bloody turn up!’ And then, in the phoney period of awaiting results that we all knew would be disastrous, the stealing began again in greater earnest ...» |
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