I don't know why I can't load a bigger image, but anyway it's the last one.

The show was pretty successful, I sold more than anyone else, though one had to keep it quiet otherwise the College would take a cut. The guy who was so good to me over the space got the colour prize worth the same as the money I made £800, I think it was. I received the Penguin Book prize for my writing, £100 worth of books and looked forward to setting off for Berlin at the end of the summer.
I'd made enough to keep me going, had a studio in Queensgate and all seemed pretty rosy. At the age of 28 I had finally finished education apart from the year in Germany.
I had also finished the D.A.B.Sc. Course. There were ten categories in the final presentation, which you made to your peers. You proposed two majors and two or three minors to pass. I took the piss and proposed ten majors pointing out that those who had already been done couldn't give a toss and those yet to come were too worried about there own ordeal, basic group dynamics. I passed on nine, they knocked me back on massage as I refused to have it done to me, though I was quite good at doing it. Nine majors and one minor.
I never collected my Diploma, I'd never collected my degree from Wimbledon, or the Royal College, until I had to in Berlin, anyway the course folded the next year. We were coming out of Tom Wolf's 'Me Generation' and moving to the doom of the Thatcher years.

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