March 19th 2019
In a cave, the sunlight fills the opening far behind me. It illuminates the walls. Charcoal & berry juice & ochre depictions of hunt scenes. There are plates of pink gold or red copper half-buried in the walls. The occupants of old were alchemists.
March 21st 2019
Scrabbling around in the crawlspace above George’s office in the Whitgift Centre. I’m trying to clear a space in the dark; a space to rest in. The space is filled with all the things that were stored in this loft space: canvas bags of tools, huge packets of toilet roll, boxes of old perm rods, a plastic Christmas tree. “Hello.” It is George’s ex, Sarah M. I’m not surprised to find her here. Infact, I apologise. “Did I wake you?”
“No, I was just reading some old magazines.” She holds up a magazine and she indicates an area at the far end which she has set up with a chair, a rug, a table lamp; it’s quite homely.
Through the gaps in the floorboards I can see George below. He is sat at his desk, working away at his computer.
“I just leave him to it,” she says.
“He’ll work it out,” I say.
March 23rd 2019
Living in Berlin. I am stood on a bench in a park, dancing. Punk Wayne & Magic Sam & London Greg are sat on the grass, drinking. Suddenly, Nick B appears. What a surprise! He is wearing a brown leather jacket & a knitted, white turtleneck jumper. It is a great jumper! I climb down and say hello. He tells me that he has just got off the plane. It occurs to me that it is quite some chance that he has found us. He takes in his surroundings. “Never been here,” he says. “There’s a Pissarro exhibition at the ________. Thought I’d come over and go see it.” I feel embarrassed because I don’t know where the gallery is. He has a map. It is marked with biro lines.
nickreeves 