Dylan Thomas, in First Class, dispatching Rainbow Trout (tatties, peas and half a stout). There's scurf on the shoulders of his tweed ('Howell's of St. Mary St., Cardiff'). Mistook him for a Beatle. "Ringo's in the dining car!" "A cwtsh for a poxy autograph?" (Who's he think he is! Richard Burton?) … Continue reading rumbling over the severn, my belly thinking my throat’s been cut.
Of clearing her father’s house in Enfield, she would only stand to say, “Have you ever tried to sell a baby grand? Or even given one away?” After forever it was all that was left. Guess this world has little need for a baby grand beneath a paper lampshade, on the quiet parquet. … Continue reading Prompts for future conversation.
cut-up. Nat. Geo/ Boys' Own. watercolour wash. 20" X 30"
I drank Christmas tea this evening and it made me smile. A cinnamoned and gap toothed smile in summertime. I wondered, at the window of an old man, would the stars still be burning in fifty years time? And would there be Russian cake today, as advertised on a chalk sign in the town.
4 [postcard] Portuguese Barbershop. A monochrome snapshot of a man being shaved in a barbershop. The photograph is dated April 1953 and is accredited to Michel Waldmann. Mum and dad had travelled to Portugal a lot around this time (2015), toying with the idea of selling up, renting a remote property there. They … Continue reading Mirror (4).
the very last words that she heard were, “hey, man! they’ve just landed!” it was late one night in ‘69 we laid her out on a big blue blanket. we carried her down to the beach through the town, there was a storm brewing on the atlantic. the needle dropped down and i heard the … Continue reading Side 2 of Beggar’s Banquet.
