Work in progress
Previous | Detour | Next This detour is therapy more than anything else. Picture me on the therapist’s couch talking about 1964-66 in detail instead of skipping over it. If you really want to watch my wheels fall off in slow motion, help yourself — some people enjoy observing lab mice! Otherwise I’d ... Read more
Previous | Detour | Next Aimless I may have thought I was on the way up after my stint at the hospital, the magic Summer of ’65 and reverting to my original goal, a degree in agriculture, but I was wrong. After only three days I wanted to leave Massey. Like the previous ... Read more
Previous | Detour | Next I thought it might be amusing to record an old man (“older man”!) reading his nineteen year-old’s words aloud — the diary I wrote over the Summer of 1965. Honestly, I was amazed — by how much we did, most of it forgotten. By our youthful exuberance and the ... Read more
| Contents | This, for what it’s worth, is what I was reading and writing in 1965 after dropping out from VUW. Looking back, I thought it weird that the book that eventually “grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me” was written by a German psychotherapist in 1930 — ... Read more
Previous | Detour | Next Mum and Dad drove me down to Wellington in February 1964. All I can remember of the trip is staying overnight at a little, long-gone, old-time hotel in the hills somewhere past Auckland, and seeing black-and-white TV for the first time in its lounge. The ... Read more
| Contents | Next An old friend remembers overhearing her parents talk about her. “What do you think she should do when she leaves school?” her father said. “She’s not very bright.” They were wrong, of course. Wrong as parents and wrong in fact. But nobody said anything like that to me — ... Read more