Monday 8 September 1975
Walking with Trudy along Brighton seafront. I know
she’s still going out with Anton. That doesn’t matter. We hold hands. I bend her
backwards on the promenade railing.
As we
are kissing, a cricketer passes and makes a dirty remark.
I
say, ‘Go play your stupid game with my father.’
[Dad was a cricketer!]
[These photos of Brighton in the 1975s are so evocative for me: Snapshots of Brighton in the 1970s - Flashbak.]
