November 17th 2004 Crystal Palace 1 restring guitar 2 practice 3 fruit, veg, toilet roll 4 laundry 5 Pips (at school gates) 6 send article to NB 7 Santi 8 rent 9 bathe 10 be good, drink water, breathe [7/10] November 17th 2017 Whitley Bay Damp metro to West Monkseaton to record at Alan Mac's … Continue reading Notes From A Fragile Island.
The smeared sights, the bright lights – Felling, Hebburn, Pelaw - rushed the windscreen and nearly disappeared into the rear view. Dave passed the patchwork allotment in Jarrow. Sad flags, a surprising number – a Jack, a George, a rainbow, an A in a circle – hung there over wet sheds and plots from plum … Continue reading Looker.
November 6 2004 (Crystal Palace) [letter extract] 'Last night, random fireworks snapping their fingers over and around the surrounding boroughs - just one or two every hour or so. The first one though exploded out of the dark blue cover of teatime, quite close by and actually made me jump! Next door's little lap dog … Continue reading Notes From A Fragile Island.
October 9 2004 The Ship: Magic, Fashion & Ronnie are sat around one of the barrels in the front window. Magic nods, smiles through a beer froth beard. His teeth are small. Fashion & Ronnie are sharing a giant Yorkshire pudding. "A hat," says Ronnie. And, I suppose, it is rather like a hat - … Continue reading Notes from a fragile island.
October 7 2004 After work meet up with Fashion Andy and Adam X for a beer at The Goose On The Market. Dreadful huge screens dominate the pub displaying football games that mean nothing to me. It is very noisy. The beer is as cheap as the clientele. Fashion Andy moans about his girlfriend. Adam … Continue reading Journal.
i rested on the handle of my spade and smoked. i witnessed a congregation of privet, solemn hemmed and so cuffed with berries that even the herring birds, oddly black against the cloud, eschewed with cackles and coughs and with caution; such is tumbling rubbish on a breeze. i worked a thread of wet tobacco from my tongue to … Continue reading the bitter taste of almost breathing