I spent most of the 70's living by definition as a part time student in the UK. I was more intoxicated by the 'school of life', rather than the tedious dedication to the university lecture hall. This preoccupation took me by way of Newcastle, via London, to of all places Plymouth Devon.

I have managed to take myself back to this period using music as an 'astral time machine'. Every memory has a soundtrack, and 'Classic Rock' of this era was a driving force encompassing much of the countercultures' collective mindset.

It was a decade of reflection, brought about by stagnation and conflict. The Vietnam War, The Cold War, The IRA, The PLO, The Red Army Faction, and let's face it by definition chaos. It appeared armed insurrection was the modality chosen by some to effectuate change. It was a time of high unemployment, strikes and inflation, the Irish question, the political scandals; where Britain teetered on the brink. It was a period where I dropped out, hoping by doing so, my brief infatuation with borderline anarchy would allow me to live and enjoy life encapsulated in my own little world.

I found myself hunkering down with a small group of like-minded scoundrels, tipsy, as we tottered somewhere between nihilistic intention and anarchistic intervention. We decided the best way to deal with the uncertainty was to simply poke fun and hatch a prank or two, all while we ignored the possibility of incarceration. The aftermath usually led us to the closest pub, where we would covertly hide behind the blur of excess and the ensuing laughter. This was the gestation that gave birth to the 'Scilly Pranksters'. It is where 'Monty Python' met 'National Lampoon's Animal House', and the cast ended up partying with 'Cheech and Chong'. The jocular hilarity will allow the reader to meet and follow the exploits of 'the gang', as we plotted or simply found ourselves in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The Diary of an Anarchist's Apprentice ravages mainstream society tackling its deficiencies in a parodistic way, sprinkling just enough satire to keep the beat, as we hitched rides through, politics, religion, the drug culture, the 'New Age', the occult, free love, and the music explosion.

These memoirs capture a collection of 20 escapades, etched in time as 'legend' rather than myth or drug induced fantasy. They feature comedic episodes such as our extemporaneous decision to leave our mark on a Vulcan bomber during a low level display, which highlighted the Queen's Silver Jubilee; the plot to borrow a diesel powered sub from her Majesty's scrap yard so we could perform our rendition of a 'Yellow Submarine'; the divine hand of God intervening to save a group of nuns after their car lost control, coincidentally after a rather prodigious Polish Kielbasa appeared to manifest where one's manhood should have been sheltered; the unforgettable sequence of events leading up to an impromptu meeting of wannabee anarchists and witches enjoying the warmth of a fire during a 'black mass'; and of course as an encore, a 'close encounter' of the strange kind, 'high' atop a Tor where UFOs had the nerve to interrupt our quest to find God, and apologize for some, but not all of our past transgressions. These and other short stories are strategically placed, preserving an informal time-line that encompassed the decade of the 70's.