1968: TO OXFORD WITH A SNAZZ

Monday, 15 July

Going home Debbie said she thinks Oxbridge ought to be abolished - it’s ludicrously antiquated. I wouldn’t dream of going there.

Wore orange trousers and Chump’s orange top, and at quarter to eight Simone and me walked up the road to the Bensteds’ party. Everybody was younger - except for Xavier. Everyone stood silently sipping their drinks, but we chatted to these American sisters. Xavier and Pascal kept going into the garden. We had to go back for our record-player as theirs was so crummy, but when we started dancing it was terrific - my Otis record was the best there. I danced with Peter, the 14-year-old. Had a cold supper we ate on the floor.

Xavier was extremely unfriendly and the evening got worse as it went on. He’s a fantastic dancer but he didn’t dance once with me. He danced only with Margaret C. I didn’t care until I saw him kissing her. They kissed for about two minutes. Decided then and there he’s as foul as I thought. He put on Polnareff but I was so fed up I took the record off and decided to go home. All men are like that; nearly all, anyway. Pascal, who helped carry the record-player home, was the last straw. He suddenly said, “Ingrid, the English are very naive.” God knows what he meant but it was an unpleasant remark. I haven’t felt so miserable for ages. I also know: even if X had danced with me, I couldn’t have beared the snogging.

I don’t think I can bear going to Oxford tomorrow.

2020: I’m surprised at my cynicism about men. I’ve no idea where it came from; it must have been school. I’m also surprised at my fury. It was hardly the reaction of a wallflower (which I thought I was). Xavier’s choosing to kiss Margaret to my favourite record must have made the incident doubly upsetting. Thus I turned on my heels - and fled!

Tuesday, 16 July

I’ve been thinking. When Pascal said the English are naive, maybe he didn’t mean me but the weeds at the party.

We picked up Pascal from the Bensteds. Didn’t say hello to X when he got in the car. I didn’t even look up. He buried himself in The Times. There was a silent feud going on between the four of us (which is rather hilarious when you think about it). The Oxfordshire countryside is beautiful, breathtaking in parts; there’s so much sky. Stopped for coffee in Henley in a little-old-ladies tea shop. It was good though! Super toast and home-made cakes.

When we got there we went to La Sorbonne, a French restaurant. We snapped out of the silent mood - wine works wonders on the French. The customers were intellectual university people. Fascinating to listen to. They’re so pleased with themselves, they have such fruity voices. When X is in a good mood you can hardly help but like him. He chuckles away and his grin is adorable. Gorgeous lunch: avocado and prawns, a peppery steak, strawberries and cream. X is head of the student revolution movement at his school, which he hates - they’re not allowed political magazines.

Xavier was an absolute scream. He lollops along a bit like Groucho, then charges up with his ciné-camera and whirrs away. He films super things like university robes in a shop window, and extraordinary professors. He let me film some pictures of long-haired workmen - they didn’t mind, compared to the professors. There were French everywhere - “français partout,” said X! Wandered into some of the colleges the nicest of which was St Magdalen’s - it’s got a deer park on one side and a fast river on the other. Drove to Marlow and all nearly fell asleep. The Compleat Angler was shut for tea, but we found a crummy tea shop. It was amusing listening to the four old ladies next to us; funny that old men aren’t somehow so pathetic. At last the hot buttery buns came. Going home X and P spoke continually in French. I adore the way they argue about politics.

Xavier is such a snazz it’s not true. I shall be disappointed if he’s not at the Gilpins.

Wednesday, 17 July

The 6th Form Unit was packed with potted plants for the opening, and everybody without exception thought it looked ridiculous - more like Kew Gardens than school!

Dinner break was fun as we chatted to Jill about her pen-friend’s family, aristocrats who live in a chateau - they said they were going to have a family picnic and 50 people rolled up!

Changed into Chump’s mini top and we left for Chichester at 5. Pa couldn’t stop talking about the office. It leaves him a nervous wreck by the end of the day.

Had Danish sandwiches at the theatre and at 7 ‘The Tempest’ began. It’s a foul play but they did it so beautifully. The set was all white with a bowl in the middle, a white disc at the back, and a white ball in front of it. The sound effects of the storm were very, very exciting and the costumes were unbelievable: white, with pale subtle colours blended in. The textures provided contrast too - bobbly wool, gauze, PVC. Ariel, coated in silver paint, sort of slithered along like a ballet dancer on his toes; gasping and staring he resembled a fish. The acting was superb! Calaban was short and fat and so like an ape it was remarkable. Gordon Gostelow (the Jester) was so funny with his squeaky voice, so good I almost felt like crying. Simone loved it too.

Thursday, 18 July

Train to Waterloo, me and Simone. Didn’t take long to find the Hayward Galleries. Brand new but I don’t like them too much: there’s so much heavy concrete. The Matisse was the opening exhibition. Why I haven’t heard of Matisse before I really don’t know! The colours are gaudy but so well balanced they’re beautiful. Simone loved it too. The paintings I adored were the 1900-1920 ones. His early paintings are too dull and his later ones too modern, and the huge mural things like ‘Snail’ I don’t get at all. Again I felt - if only I understood them. Saw lots of arty types with beards, and intellectuals too. It’s difficult looking at paintings without my glasses - I must take them next time.

2020: Having opened seven days before our visit, the Hayward Gallery, described in turns as “surly”, “bunkerlike”, “dank” and “bleak”, was charged with ‘‘Immunity From Listing’ by the Ministry of Tourism and Heritage. (I am quite upset to learn this.) How unfitting that the Hayward, a radical assemblage of concrete blocks and terraces that’s a long-lasting part of our heritage, is unprotected to this day.

In spite of being under-exposed to “social interaction and fun” (as the architects had intended) this iconic sixties’ structure, once the ugliest building in Britain, has become the ‘gallery the public loves to hate.’ In the words of Jonathan Glancey, the Hayward is likeable, purposeful and dynamic. I hope it stays.

Got a tube to St James Park. It was lovely, with ducks, pelicans and masses of flowers. We lay down as it was blissfully warm, then this queer chap came along asking if we wanted any '“advice”. He kept persisting in such a squirmy way it was foul. Got a tube to Oxford Circus and walked down Regent Street, full of French and Italians. Went to Liberty’s (Simone’s favourite). So many glorious things I’d like for my birthday: little sponge bags, large silk scarves, writing paper with coloured envelopes.

We were meant to be back by 6 so had to change in five minutes flat. Mr Charruthers and Xavier were waiting in the car outside. Mr C behaves in the right sort of way with him - he pokes him to wake up and pay attention, then X does a lovely grin! X hardly looked at me, let alone talked. He must despise us. Jeremy had on grey trousers, black shoes and black and turquoise nylon socks - how could he. We got to the pageant. Unfortunately I didn’t sit next to X, I wish I had, it was lovely in the dark. I was in that sort of mood. I would have brought my glasses if I’d known it was a pageant of English history.

Thinking about X he’s changed every time I’ve seen him, from foul and supercilious to funny and quite adorable.

Friday, 19 July

About 5 Chump, Simone and me started to get the ‘Amusement Park’ ready (!). Table tennis, hammock, stilts, not to mention the swimming pool. Sometimes Ma annoys me with her physical fitness and strength, she makes others seem weedy. It’s a sort of odd irritation I have.

What an odd irritation. Was there a hidden agenda? Seems harsh.

Then everyone arrived - including X, in pale blue bathing trunks. My hair got wet, but only the tail bit. Peter and Pascal didn’t swim, Pascal because he “doesn’t swim with babies.” Urgh! We wanted to throw them both in.

We all left for the Gilpins’ BBQ. I had five chicken drumsticks and sausages - lovely. Needless to say, I didn’t converse a single word with X. I believe he hates me. All had coffee in the living room, which has a lovely long comfy sofa. Xavier got locked in the ‘water closet’ (quote Pascal!) and Pa had to get him out through the window. Played records and banged the drums. I lay back and closed my eyes. Half the time X turned his back on me. When ‘Yesterday’ came on I could have screamed. I wanted to dance with him so much, I felt I could even have beared him kissing me.

Saturday, 20 July

Ma took us to Tadworth where we got a 406 to Hollyfield Road. An entertaining ride because of types on the bus and the bus conductor, a hilarious little Silas Marner sort of chap. He shrieked out the names of the stops so you couldn’t understand them! Pam was waiting for us, grinning. Her area is very green compared to Worcester Park. The house is corny but at least modern and gay. She has very nice parents: father tall and good-looking with white hair and a black droopy moustache, and mother very smart with blond hair and make-up. Both young friendly types and intelligent, rather like the Goldmans. We were welcomed with a glass of wine! Mr S is mad on wine, he has it with every meal.That’s what he loves about France and he’s especially keen on Dieppe.

Pam’s bedroom is very untidy and she has her radio on French stations - marvellous. She’s got three gorgeous teddy-bears and ten foreign dolls, which she keeps in their plastic containers. Had a very good lunch of chicken roast on a spit and strawberry sponge. Towards the end we decided we’d all speak French with a penalty for anybody who didn’t!

Mrs S said if we helped wash up she’d drive us to Chessington Zoo. The zoo isn’t marvellous but we had a rather nice time. The monkeys were so awful they sort of snarled and their hands were so human. After a bit of persuasion Pam consented to going on the little open train - it felt like the wild-west railways! Bought candy floss and ices, and saw quite a lot of Indians and Negroes. Had a lovely tea when we got back; tea is such a genteel sort of thing. Mr S took us home in the E-type - fantastic.

Got home to find Dad cross. John, Pascal and X had been in the pool for two hours.

Sunday, 21 July

I read an article in ‘Queen’ on students at Oxford. Most of them are only interested in money. ”I want to be a rich man and be thought of as a rich man”; “I want to earn a lot of money to fulfil my expensive tastes” etc. Depressing and pathetic.

We drove to Fishbourne to see the villa and stopped at Great Grooms on the way. Fishbourne was fantastic - the biggest and best Roman villa in England. They had a fire in the middle with hot air running down tunnels under the floors: Roman central heating.

Drove to the boat and had a snack lunch. It drizzled. Read ‘Rave’, it’s pathetic. Just the pop-world.

Didn’t tie my hair back today, my fringe flopped around and drove me crazy.

Apparently Margaret C has been chasing after Xavier for the last two days. Bit sickening to be so forward. Surely she can’t mean anything to him. She’s the type who’s just made for snogging at parties.