January 28th 2014 (Wallington)
Someone is trying to convince me that Morrissey is the only lyricist left in pop showbiz. They are doing this by leaving tiny handwritten notes everywhere. They are to be found everytime I go to the fridge, to the supermarket, to the toilet, to work. Here is another beneath the soap. On a long hike with Mik T & Angela F I am to see a plane buzz overhead between the trees. The sky is blue. The sky fills with 1000s of pieces of paper. They fall to the ground. I pretend not to notice them, but Mik T picks several up & reads them. “‘Morrissey is the sauce to the pasta.’ What’s all this then?” I have pockets full of similar messages. As we walk on over yellow cornfields (with Croydon airport in the distance) I begin to realise that this is quite possibly the truth.
January 29th 2014.
I realise, with some surprise & delight, that some people have the same initials.
January 30th 2014.
John K has left his car outside my flat. It is a red London taxi & he has left the handbrake off. The flat is an approximation of the old flat at Elmshurst Avenue. One evening I am in the living room. The room is a jerry built extension of the building. It is like dad’s old work space in Dermandy Rd., (1960s). It is wood framed & the walls are polythene. I look outside & the red taxi starts to roll away down the street toward a busy junction. I want to run outside & stop it, but there is not enough time. Also, I don’t know how I would stop it anyway. The vehicle gathers momentum & rolls across the busy junction. Miraculously it misses all the traffic. It rolls up the bank & crashes into the front window of Safeways.
Jayne L & I climb through the broken shop window into the shop. It is filled with looters. Somehow we push the car back out through the window & up the hill to where it once was. I phone John K to reassure him that the police are not involved, but he just laughs at me.