From Twenty Art Outings

FEBRUARY 1973

I placed a 50p piece in the tray. The driver looked at it and said he had no change. I replied that was all I had. He muttered and I picked up my money and went and sat down at the back and read the Evening News because that was all they'd had. After a few moments I noticed that we weren't moving, that the driver was looking over his shoulder at me, that the other passengers were staring at me. I asked the driver whether he wanted me to get off and he said no, just get some change. I walked down the bus, asking people for change of 50p. A man gave me five 10p pieces and I gave the driver one of them and he handed me a ticket and a 2p piece.
At the next stop a large gang of youths boarded. They all ran upstairs, most of them without paying the fare. Then from above came a very loud noise which someone told me was due to the banging of boots. One woman suggested dialling 999. A family hurried off the bus and said they were going to get a taxi. The driver said he was looking for a police car.
I got off the bus at the bridge. It was a pleasant day for a walk by the river. A few alcoholics and works of art about. I passed an ancient building I'd never noticed before. Encircling it was a moat containing a number of large black fish slowly swimming to and fro. An old man in a black beret was throwing bread to them.
The grass square was ringed by large statues of historically important men. In spite of the cars and traffic all around, it was quite peaceful. The only other person there was a 1940s-looking youth with spiky, Brylcreemed hair and strange eyes. He was sitting on a bench and said something to me as I passed. I knew he was asking me for money, but pretended to think he was asking me the time. I glanced at my watch and told him it had just gone 12 o'clock.

 

JULY 1973

I thought I could kill two birds with one stone by popping out to the bank and dealing with the art on the way home. Waiting to cross the road I went out of my way to avoid having to say hello to a person I didn't want to talk to.
I drew £8.50 out of the bank (enough, I thought, to last me a while). As I unchained my bike from the railings outside the bank, I eyed a busy Securicor party. Then I bought an Evening Standard and cycled off.
On the way to the estate I went via the street where I was born and which I'd last been along twenty-five years ago. It hadn't changed much.
A sign at the entrance to the estate said 'No Cycling'. So I got off my bike and pushed it, watching other people cycling instead.
It was in quite good condition. Someone had written 'Stephen' in white chalk on the actual thing itself. And someone had painted a big 'RA' on the base. Lying at the bottom was an empty fizzy drink can. When I leant my bike up against a wall, a canary in a cage outside one of the ground floor flats started chirping very loudly.
Some people watched me. A youth mending his car. A painter-and-decorator. A young mother and her child. A kid on a bike. Two middle-aged men who just happened to be passing. I noticed them and then I left.
I'd almost reached home when my next-door neighbour ran across the road in front of me. "Don't run me over with that!" she shouted, laughing.