People didn't talk about paedophiles in the seventies, I don't think.

Non-pantheist models for god seem almost completely untenable to me, though not without interest.

Anyway, to cut off one's biological dreams seems to me the most fundamental form of psychic castration that you could imagine.

I've drifted in and out of vegetarianism for years.

Lots of things were there [in the seventies], in the social experience, but not quite named, lurking like a stranger on the edge of the playground.

I grew up in North Devon, by the sea, and feel a special affinity for the landscape there, despite a lack of actual ancestry.

When I think back on it, I have a sense of relaxation, as if in the seventies no one had to try to be anyone other than who they were. I'm sure that's not really true, but that's how I remember it, and I suppose it might be relatively true.