Fading Beehive.

Fading This is from when he was still a young boy; hip-slung, just so; nothing very much to say. Three lances of sunlight, emanating from beyond the top right-hand corner, fall forever across the photograph, piercing a number of the sitters - pupils and teachers. The headmaster (Mr. D) - front row, centre - has … Continue reading Fading Beehive.

Pigeon Sense.

Short on time, Tweed Gilet meld day into night raising a frenetic, greasy, bubble haired, scuffed rhythm and soul hullabaloo. The frontman, yesterday's eyeliner, candle wax flesh bent beneath the polystyrene, sick-looking, kisses the mic, briefly, tenderly, intones, "Safe home everybody." * Being a stranger in town, Knott, nowhere to go post-show, began to help … Continue reading Pigeon Sense.

The Dream Job.

At Penn Beacon market last weekend, I bought a dozen National Geographic magazines (dated some four decades ago, but for one with a beautiful African savanna on the cover, that was from April 1982; the paper of which was considerably thinner) from a man who, as well as cheap collections of periodicals – such as … Continue reading The Dream Job.