Summer of 1976It is hot and bright and sunny every morning when I wake. Summer is endless, Indian; all future summers promise to be the same ( Read more... )

I've managed to resist the temptation to delete the last entry on the grounds of it being melodramatic drivel. It is, after all, how I felt at the time. And I love melodrama and frequently spout drivel so it is fairly representative of me ( Read more... )

I have no idea why I wittered on about the Germans for so long, as I meant to write about my trip to the National Portrait Gallery today. I went to see the Cecil Beaton exhibition, but it was sold out so I mooched around the "We are the People" displays - a collection of old private photo postcards from the 1890s to the 1920s, i.e. the days before ( Read more... )