Wednesday 5 March 1975
I leave a house – somebody calls back that Chris has
seen Maggie and that she’s very brown. Affronted that she hasn’t phoned I say,
‘I s’pose she’s been spending all her fucking time doing fucking nothing.’ When
I get home Mum ushers me into the living room. Dad talking to Maggie. Suddenly
we’re all in the hall. There’s a child. ‘What’s that?’ ‘That’s a child of C.P.
Snow or Xwenpj Ulubaba. I’ve sort of adopted it.’ Mum mocks: ‘You won’t have to
teach it to read.’ It is an insipid object.
I
want to get Maggie upstairs.
