Journal

Not thinking, nor thoughtless. Not action, nor inaction. Not one thing, nor anything. Emptiness is love without boundaries. A circle, whose circumference is nowhere and whose centre is everywhere.

To unlearn the habitual patterns that rule one’s life. This does not mean abandoning or repressing, just being aware. By being aware one is free, unburdened. Neither one thing or any other. Unfixed….Unborn

In July 1982, our first born was a few weeks old. My Dad was a month short of his 96th birthday but he was dying, in a nursing home a short distance away from the flat in Milford. Was happy. How had we got here?

Maggie and I were married in‘79. I was trying to be an adult; doing what I was supposed to do, or so I imagined. Be responsible, get a job, make ends meet. It was hard work. Where did the romance and creativity go? Curiously, I was recruited by the East Boldre Players, an amdram group in our village. I could pretend, at least.I was at his bedside. He looked up and said; ‘They are all there, can you see?’

Stuff flows through me, like a river. Is it real? Is it right or wrong? Does that even matter? There is  the unacceptable addiction and the siren lure of guilt, the ghost of Christianity. To be overcome by kindness, love even in the midst of chaos.The head above the parapet. Bang!

Tasha was my first proper girlfriend. She was the older sister of a schoolfriend. She thought it was time to lose her virginity. I was seventeen and a virgin too, in the penetrative sense, living in my parents’ London flat. They were out. She had come round. It was a matter of practicality and nervous anticipation. Sensing her impatience, I could barely get it up. Instructions were issued. I had to wank a while, in embarrassment. Eventually it happened. It was hard work. There was blood on the sheet. When it came to laundry, I said I’d cut my finger.

Nine months later, I was taking A Levels. It was History, out at Ealing, the morning of the day that the Stones were due to play Hyde Park. On the way back, I met a couple of friends at Paddington tube. By the time we got there on foot, the crowd spread out a quarter of a mile from the stage that was set up by the Serpentine… The rest is history, of course.

When I was seven, I was sent to prep school, Prep being an abbreviation of preparatory.

So I was being prepared, but for what? Other peoples’ expectations. But that wasn’t who I was.

I decided on a strategy: from now on I would pretend to conform to those expectations, while remaining essentially detached.

This strategy more or less worked for the next five years. I loved football and cricket and singing too. Despite the institutional brutality, I mostly succeeded. The strategy held up. Or so I thought, visiting me in the backroom, basement or attic of emotional exile….

Then I was sent to ‘Public’ school. Only it wasn’t public at all. I was thirteen, unlucky and decidedly private.

Institutional brutality was now expanded. Senior boys, prefects were authorized to beat wrongdoers with a paddle. Self satisfaction in combination with sadism was the prep for success. Hormones raced. There were no girls. During the Easter holidays of my first year, my parents took me to Malta. We stayed in a grand hotel in Valletta. My first orgasm came in a dream about our waitress. This was private, naturally.

Back at boarding school, it wasn’t all bad ,friendships were made. I still meet up with Phil, from time to time. Last summer, we spent the day on his boat that is moored at Gosport.

I’m getting on a bit, 75 next month. When do I find this ‘I’? Is there something to be found, a soul perhaps?

I’m no more certain now than at any time. There are narratives of course and they change too, theories, fictions.

The conceptual mind is a filter, within the body, itself a filter; always changing. Consciousness escapes identification as an object. What seems fixed and permanent is an illusion. As the waves roll in over the sands of time, ‘impermanence is the footprint of the absolute in the relative.’

In January 1971, Columba Powell and I went to the USA and stayed for three months, travelling around the country.

We arrived in New York. Staying in a loft with a friend, off Times Square. I felt the need to get something and went downstairs, past the Gay Cinema Club to the corner store. There was a shifty-looking guy I noticed. He was rifling through a stack of produce. The vibe was sticky. The man at the cash desk was eyeing him. ‘You need to buy something or get out,’ he shouted to the shifty guy, who ignored him and pocketed some stuff. ‘You pay for that, or I’m calling the law.’ The shifty guy pulled out a badge. ‘I am the fucking law,’ he announced as he left without paying.

A famous actress had told her younger sister, whom I knew, that she slept with everybody because: ‘it would be so impolite not to’. Kind of how things were, and, despite having been shy when younger, I took that advice to heart mostly. Anyway, the friend, let’s call her Wendy, and I got it on. We all decided we wanted to drive across country to LA, but car hire was too expensive. However, there was a firm in Hartford, Connecticut, that took on repossessed cars to deliver wherever. You could sign on and get a car for free. Wendy and I both had licenses. We took a bus to sign up.

The car was OK a Chevrolet Vega. Having driven back to New York to pick up our stuff we set off and, once out of town, were pulled over. I was driving and had exceeded the speed limit. I modelled the half-wit English tourist: ‘I’m so sorry Officer. I’m not used to these powerful American cars…’ The cop was mollified: ‘ya be careful now. This was New Mexico you’d be thrown in jail’. ‘Yes officer. Thank you officer’ etc… Curiously a week or two later the same thing did happen in New Mexico. We’d crossed the border and smoked a spliff or three. The cop was cool: ‘You be safe now…’ You never can tell.

Wendy was older than us. She had connections and knew her metaphorical way around better than me. I’ve always had women take the lead. In Hollywood, we were at the house of someone she knew. There was a coven of women around the table. The men seemed excluded or excluded themselves. The talk turned to sex. One of the women was particularly outspoken: ‘You know these new vibrators, you can cum in like two minutes.’ I felt embarrassed. Here I was, twenty years old, a month away from twenty one and completely out of my depth. Columba didn’t want to take advantage of his father’s connections. There was an actor he knew, who was quite unassuming, though. We went to stay with his family. Wendy didn’t join us.

We decided to travel up the coast to San Francisco. We began by hitching. A car pulled up. The driver wanted to know if we had a license. OK so I’d have to share the driving. We got in the back. There was a woman there. She seemed friendly enough. There was another guy in the front, next to the driver. He had his feet up on the dashboard. ‘We ain’t no hippy punks, he declared. Maybe he was referring to our long hair. ‘We ain’t no hippy punks’ he insisted. This became a refrain as he drew out a knife and stabbed the dashboard again and again. Columba and I exchanged looks. We really didn’t need this. The vibe was skewed. Maybe the car was stolen. ‘We need gas. You got any cash?’ asked the driver. We pulled into a station and gave him some. ‘Thanks for the lift’ as we scarpered.

We took a bus up the coast to Santa Cruz. I met Jane. We did the deed. I wanted to visit Big Sur. She offered to drive. We camped overnight and the next day, set off walking into the hills. After a couple of hours, following a winding trail, we arrived at a beautiful spot with a small lake. We dropped some mescaline. I dozed off. When I woke, Jane had disappeared. There were naked men Whooping and diving off the rocks. What the fuck! I looked around. Below were two guys playing chess. They looked like an altogether better proposition. I scrambled down the slope and said hi. They were welcoming and friendly. The next day they gave me a lift back up north. I never saw Jane again.

We stayed at Berkeley. Somebody knew somebody. It was time to fly home but we needed to get to the east coast. We found a notice in the union, asking for people to share the drive. Jim had a camper van and wanted to get back to Harvard. There five in all, including Columba whose job was to roll joints. We drove in shifts, taking turns to sleep on the bed. We got to Boston in 56 hours, stopping at truck stops only for food and fuel.

A few days later Hot Tuna were playing in town. We loved Jefferson Airplane but Columba was unwell so I went on my own. It was late when the concert finished. I was wired and decided to walk the few miles back. The streets were quiet. A car pulled over. There was a lone driver, who asked if I wanted a lift. I sensed a non-threatening vibe and told him I was staying at Harvard. He said OK. I got in the passenger seat. ‘I really dig your body image man’ he told me enthusiastically. We discussed pornography. He had quite a collection apparently, which he was keen to show me. I told him I wasn’t into it. He dropped me off as requested.

I was born in Birmingham in 1951 and grew up at Stripes Hill outside the village of Knowle, south of the city.

My father was born in 1886, and my mother in 1908. She was his third wife.

I was an only child with one half-brother, forty years older, who ran the family business with Dad. The business was an industrial manufactory in Birmingham, started by my grandfather in the mid-nineteenth century.

The family was wealthy, and we lived in a large house. I was loved.

My first sexual encounter was at a birthday party, aged four. A girl and I were under the piano, draped with a sheet, to conceal the legs, perhaps. It was a game of hide and seek. ‘You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine,’ she proposed.

She pulled up her skirt and pulled down her pants. The next was with our au pair, Heidi. She was giving me my bath. Rather than get her clothes wet, she undressed and climbed into the tub with me. Her pubic hair was magnetic. I asked her what it was. ‘That’s a bush,’ she said. ‘We all have those. You’ll have one when you grow up.’ It seemed quite unlikely, but I wanted hers.