ABSTRACT
That first day when signing in as a student at the Bournemouth College is still unbelievably fresh in my memory. Standing shyly in the enrolment line-up, chatting to Anne Martin, a slim, fair-haired girl who seemed as bemused as me. Later she would become part of my circle for a while and eventually end up having work hung in the Tate. However, as soon as I joined the architecture class I was back amongst familiar faces as there were four of us from the same year at school: John Randall, William Crocker, John Elliott and myself. I was surely very relaxed as I can still hear the typography teacher, John Turland, asking me to ‘stop broadcasting, Cook’.
