Another day, another corner of the basement - and I hit paydirt: five folders full of letters, cards, and drawings and doodles from the 60s through to the mid 80s. Evidently I've been interested in book destruction for a long while - look at the adorable little 'saur on the right-hand side, chomping her way through an overgrown bookcase.
But when did I draw this? I suspect it was during a departmental meeting at Bristol - the squared paper (I was doing a lot of research in Italy at the time) gives it away, and the sentiment would certainly fit. It will be carefully filed away, now - so far as one can call plastic crates - a crate a decade, which is a remarkably tidy way of organizing one's life - filing. Today I managed to cull all the old clothes that were lurking in bags and cases (and culled most of the bags, too - the vaguely usable ones quickly disappeared from the kerbside, I was pleased to find) and restricted myself to one crate of Memory Clothes. Some of the rest (destined for Goodwill, probably) represent extraordinary exercises in bad taste; some I find it hard to believe I could ever have fitted in, even at my thinnest - and why, in the 90s, did I evidently fall in with fashion's craze for trimming everything in cheap lace? Presumably in a desperate effort to suggest to my students that I was far, far from being some prehistoric throwback ...
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