15/01/24 The warm, smoky, upper deck of a 190 Routemaster, heading toward Croydon. It is a Saturday morning in 1980. I am sat at the front, over the cab, and Brighton Rd, before and beneath, is heavily misted behind the steamed-up windows. I have wiped a penny-sized hole in the condensation and every so often … Continue reading dream diaries… 120
08/08/23 I wander a Spanish apartment. I wonder why a Spanish apartment. By Spanish, I mean, I suppose, Mediterranean, and by apartment, perhaps, villa. Inch square blue and white ceramic tiles checker the floors. The walls are chalk-plaster smooth. Cool-white ceilings, too. The furniture is simple; quiet; hand-turned pine and raffia. Their shadow backs and … Continue reading dream diaries… 119
04/08/23 Beefhook was now the name he went by; Captain, he was not. Having come all this way, tramping open landlocked miles, highways, county fields, with thumb aloft, righteous finger on the trigger of his god, blackened middle brother, coughing like a Durham miner, and familiar with not a lot, but determined, of a sudden, … Continue reading dream diaries… 118
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