that you have more contacts than any of your bosses, and a better reputation in the field. You’ve picked up some Japanese and are in the forefront of Anglo-Japanese trade links. You’ve even done a lot of work for the government, though you’ve never voted for them.
You have a 1984 wedding. Ro gives up work and has twins, Jeremy and Jessica.
You buy your Chelsea flat but start looking for a house out of London. Not in the commuter belt, a real retreat. You have an office in the city and a full staff there, but do most of your work in the field, out of the country. Your wardrobe includes gear appropriate to every climate and social occasion. You own tropical suits and alpaca parkas, and have multiples of dinner jackets in white and black. Ro teases you about dressing like James Bond, and asks if you can have an ejector seat fitted in the BMW.
Finally, you buy a house in Sutton Mallet, near Sedgwater. You return almost as a conquering hero. Your old teachers all want to take credit for you.
You have friends and contacts all over the world but stay in touch with a surprising number of people from Ash Grove. Mark Amphlett founds
The Shape
, a magazine, and becomes a ‘style guru’. Michael Dixon is a comedian, TV personality and novelist. Victoria Conyer emerges shrieking from punk and survives as a singer-songwriter. Gully Eastment is another kind of guru, leader of a nomadic tribe of travellers; he goes to jail for his part in a poll-tax riot and is the subject of several television documentaries.
Laraine, a lecturer in history at East Anglia, marries Fred, her university boyfriend. James comes out of the army and starts a security firm. You employ him to run security at conferences whenever there is a possibility of terrorist attack. Councillor Robert Hackwill, your old school bully, is always leaving messages on your answerphone, wheedling support for local schemes.
When the kids start school, Ro comes into the firm. She turns out to have a flair for design, and handles your PR. Victoria poaches her to run her indie record label, which is a surprise but works out amazingly well.
The 1980s are good to you. It’s hard not to feel guilty about that. You work closely with a great many business people you feel are no better than crooks but manage to keep your own integrity. You won’t work in South Africa, Chile, Indonesia or the Philippines (until Marcos goes). With Michael and Mark, you get involved around the fringes of Live Aid and keep up your charitable work, donating a great deal of free time and expertise to discreet fund-raising and environmental lobbying.
It’s possible that you make a difference.
* * *
But, as the ’80s draw to a close, and you turn thirty, you start thinking.
Isn’t everything all just a bit too easy?
The point of a jigsaw is the putting together. Once it’s done, you don’t frame and admire the picture. You feel you’ve finished this puzzle. There’s a nagging urge to break up the picture into a million pieces and put it back in its box. Then start again.
That’s silly.
In many ways, you’ve only just started. There are the kids. New puzzles, constantly exciting and interesting. You’ve no real idea what pictures they’ll make yet. Work is still stimulating. You and Ro aren’t bored with each other.
If the next word in this train of thought is ‘But…’ go to 169. If the next word is ‘And…’ go to 274.
25
Y ou call it Year the Second-and-Fifth (of Ash Grove and Hemphill), after James the First (of England) and Sixth (of Scotland). For the first two terms, from September 1975 to Easter 1976, you work hard on your new courses and achieve a middling placing in classes of clever kids.
Your parents are mad keen on the O Level lark. Laraine, who will go to university at the end of the month, is ordered to tell you what a wonderful time she had at Sedgwater College. Previously, toiling in the lower depths of the CSE stream, you were lost. Now, there’s the
You have a 1984 wedding. Ro gives up work and has twins, Jeremy and Jessica.
You buy your Chelsea flat but start looking for a house out of London. Not in the commuter belt, a real retreat. You have an office in the city and a full staff there, but do most of your work in the field, out of the country. Your wardrobe includes gear appropriate to every climate and social occasion. You own tropical suits and alpaca parkas, and have multiples of dinner jackets in white and black. Ro teases you about dressing like James Bond, and asks if you can have an ejector seat fitted in the BMW.
Finally, you buy a house in Sutton Mallet, near Sedgwater. You return almost as a conquering hero. Your old teachers all want to take credit for you.
You have friends and contacts all over the world but stay in touch with a surprising number of people from Ash Grove. Mark Amphlett founds
The Shape
, a magazine, and becomes a ‘style guru’. Michael Dixon is a comedian, TV personality and novelist. Victoria Conyer emerges shrieking from punk and survives as a singer-songwriter. Gully Eastment is another kind of guru, leader of a nomadic tribe of travellers; he goes to jail for his part in a poll-tax riot and is the subject of several television documentaries.
Laraine, a lecturer in history at East Anglia, marries Fred, her university boyfriend. James comes out of the army and starts a security firm. You employ him to run security at conferences whenever there is a possibility of terrorist attack. Councillor Robert Hackwill, your old school bully, is always leaving messages on your answerphone, wheedling support for local schemes.
When the kids start school, Ro comes into the firm. She turns out to have a flair for design, and handles your PR. Victoria poaches her to run her indie record label, which is a surprise but works out amazingly well.
The 1980s are good to you. It’s hard not to feel guilty about that. You work closely with a great many business people you feel are no better than crooks but manage to keep your own integrity. You won’t work in South Africa, Chile, Indonesia or the Philippines (until Marcos goes). With Michael and Mark, you get involved around the fringes of Live Aid and keep up your charitable work, donating a great deal of free time and expertise to discreet fund-raising and environmental lobbying.
It’s possible that you make a difference.
* * *
But, as the ’80s draw to a close, and you turn thirty, you start thinking.
Isn’t everything all just a bit too easy?
The point of a jigsaw is the putting together. Once it’s done, you don’t frame and admire the picture. You feel you’ve finished this puzzle. There’s a nagging urge to break up the picture into a million pieces and put it back in its box. Then start again.
That’s silly.
In many ways, you’ve only just started. There are the kids. New puzzles, constantly exciting and interesting. You’ve no real idea what pictures they’ll make yet. Work is still stimulating. You and Ro aren’t bored with each other.
If the next word in this train of thought is ‘But…’ go to 169. If the next word is ‘And…’ go to 274.
25
Y ou call it Year the Second-and-Fifth (of Ash Grove and Hemphill), after James the First (of England) and Sixth (of Scotland). For the first two terms, from September 1975 to Easter 1976, you work hard on your new courses and achieve a middling placing in classes of clever kids.
Your parents are mad keen on the O Level lark. Laraine, who will go to university at the end of the month, is ordered to tell you what a wonderful time she had at Sedgwater College. Previously, toiling in the lower depths of the CSE stream, you were lost. Now, there’s the
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