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"I was to spend twenty-five years in this search, which began, it may not surprise readers to hear, in Piccadilly, at No. 11 Half Moon Street, a discreet establishment someone had told me about and where I rented a room for a weekend, twice I think, in my Cambridge history. Street prowlers and male prostitutes, not many, were my first prey; of them, strangely enough, I remember nothing at all, but I find in my notebooks the following brief entry: 'No. 11 Half Moon Street, the kind of room in which one kills oneself.'"

"However, if I was cheerless then, life brightened for me after I came down."

J.R. Ackerley, My Father and Myself






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post #437
bio: blaine
perma-link
12/8/2006
12:32

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