Tuesday, 16th. March 1976

After a few months in my first year at university it dawned on me that I was something of an outlier. I had no real direct experience of the ‘middle class’ for one thing, although I did not differentiate between people in this way. One of the key observations I made was how relatively well-off – and consequently relaxed – most of my fellow students were. I was totally dependent upon the student grant from my local authority – in my case Devon County Council.

Many of my friends had parents who were able to provide additional funds over and above the student grant, and I got the feeling that sometimes they could not understand why I was so ‘poor’. I just got on with it and did my best to live within my means, which meant finding work whenever I could.

It was Easter break at university and that meant only one thing: I had to find work. I had been asking around for a week or so and eventually settled on the Alfred Marks Temp bureau at Centre Point as being a good bet. They could not promise anything but, if I got to their office early something might come up.

As a result I was out of bed today at twenty to six and left the flat in Clapton at 06:30 and on the 73 bus to Centre Point – at the bottom of Tottenham Court Road – and managed to be at Alfred Marks by 07:40. Then came the hanging around hopeful and nervous period.

It was 9 o’clock before something finally came up and, whatever it was, I knew I would take it. Turned out to be Harraps, a well-known book publisher in Upper Holborn. After meeting with a ‘lovely woman’ in Personnel I ended up in the invoicing department. There a chap called Charlie showed me what was required of me, and it turned out there was more to it than I imagined. He spent all day training me!

I did have a lunch break and, since it was only a short walk, ventured down to the LSE to speak to Theresa – the Welfare Officer. It turned out that her position regarding work was as precarious as mine. We made an appointment for Friday.

I left work at 5pm and ‘was glad it was all over’ – a slightly odd phrase that suggests I did not entirely enjoy it. From there I walked through Fitzrovia, a favourite haunt of mine, to the Goodge Street branch of Tesco which, believe it or not, is still there in 2026. Caught the 253 bus home and, after reading The Guardian I forked out 10p for, got an early night. I was in bed at a quarter past eleven. I would need to be out of bed at 06:25 to make it back to Harrap’s in the morning.