tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7238561.post5807576784072051966..comments2008-05-30T22:04:39.683+01:00Johnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08440524257138574864noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7238561.post-41022361205798183272008-05-30T22:04:00.000+01:002008-05-30T22:04:00.000+01:00I'm sorry to hear that the RCP has left you in such a state - I did lurk around the fringes but never attracted more than flirtatious glances. Although the fate you describe does chime with the lurking suspicion that psychogeography and even deep topography are the last retreats of former comrades with the memories of bitter defeats to exorcise as they perambulate the marginsJohnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08440524257138574864noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7238561.post-21086561112054641262008-05-30T16:07:00.000+01:002008-05-30T16:07:00.000+01:00I was a member of that group and was never 'horizontally recruited.' Some bore with bad teeth and an even worse line in wooly jumpers cornered me at a hideous bookshop and bullied me into signing up. What you describe - and the sense I now have of what I missed - has torn me in two. Since reading your entry I've taken to roving the outer suburbs of London and talking to myself. Even as you read this, I will be edging out beyond St Albans, muttering at Potters Crouch, weeping on the sloped edge of the Three Rivers Water Authority jack-head located between Harpendon and Luton.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com