sea2

A few years back, five of us went to Cornwall. We were five people with disparate interests but just so you know what kind of people I surround myself with, I will tell you that the included the world's most heavily tattooed bird-watcher and, and this is key for the purpose of this story, an industrial archaeologist. The reason that this is key is because...
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It is 1983 and you are in The Hoop and Toy. Outside the streets of London are starting to stink of Thatcher's yuppie excess and "fuck you, I'm alright, Jack" philosophy but inside The Hoop and Toy you are discovering that you like drinking and you love French girls. There are two of them sat opposite you, oblivious to your staring. One of them has...
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Bird watching. Wash the breakfast things and see the birds compete for the seeds and scraps you put out for them. Notice whom for wheels are turning. The wren is back. Winter survival battles played out on my little patch of earth. Avenues all lined with trees, picture me and then you stop watching. These routines make things possible. Wash, rinse, dry, put away. Pessoas...
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I am not a scientist. True, some of my work on a formula involving vodka, blue curacao and orange juice was worthy of peer review and publication, and I have been known to partake in a variety of other experiments trying to push the envelope of human knowledge and experience but on the whole I am not a scientist. To this day I reckon the...
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The Aire, the Swale, the Nidd, the Wharfe, and the Ash, the Beech and the Oak. The Jay, the Magpie, the Blackbird and the Wren. The Prince, Tommys, Anywhere. The Dales, the Slieve Mish. Carling, Bushmills. The Bhoys. Accepting that soon I'll be drenched to the bone. My little world.

In which I am listening to a reggae version of The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carrol performed by Michael Rose of Black Uhuru. Interesting. And kind of chuckling about a friend who left her mother babysitting the kids while she went out. She put a DVD on for the kids and grandma before going out and all was well with the world. Except she hadn't...
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So it's like this: I have a lunchtime meet with MC Hammered and I walk into the Prince because, as I say to the Wakefield Sage, as well as being Princes amongst men, we may as well be men amid the Prince. So I walk in and amble up to the bar, in the relaxed style for which I am known, and as I walk...
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I was in the pub on 9/11. I'd finished an early shift, got the bus home and called in at the local on my way back. When I walked in, a drunk and a woman were arguing at the bar about the best place in Spain to go on holiday. They were the first thing I saw. Then I noticed Cyril, a World War II...
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Wake up feeling that the world is full of possibilities for one such as I. Last night Bez won Celebrity Big Brother, indicating that the British public are capable of taking a drug-addled madman to their hearts. I hereby resolve to stand in the next General Election. I shall, of course, have to give up my seat in the House of Lords; my title, Lord...
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It's still the same. All the floors and all the walls and all the rest remains...tiredness could kill a man; kill him stone dead. Between that and the monotony and the neverending sameness of everything and everyone and the need to break out sometimes gets so strong that it feels like a pain in your head or your chest and if something isn't done then...
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