The 23rd already – time flies when you’re rushed off your feet what with sorting out records and replies, stocktaking at work (and being unusually busy) and going out (even on our slim budget). Lisa and Mick visited. Next night saw us totally exhausted and watching TV and reading papers! I hope that doesn’t become the norm.
Today we’ve just woken up and preparing to go to Milton Keynes and then London for luncheon appointments. This mad rush of life is busy snatching time from us and we run along playing catch up, apologising to those we forget in our panic, to whom we owe replies and responses.
Read more Jack in mum’s garden, glorious sun shining and cats playing – this in the 10 minutes I managed to grab for a lunch break yesterday. And my wrist is starting to hurt again.
Steve, old pal, I’m thinking of you and about you recently what with all the stuff me and Bronwyn are going through and what you got up to in the short time I knew you. Your marriage and the birth of Rebecca and the emotions you expressed in the lead up to her birth. Difficult problems you faced and we face similar decisions now relating to our future life. Us hoping our life may be longer than yours but who can predict such sad events. Let us hope they do not take us over. Life seems short and tinged with sadness but we (Broni and I) are happy chappies (I can’t really say what I mean here but I’m not unhappy with life or despondent in anyway but aware of its boundaries and unevenness).
As to today, we drove in what seems like the blink of an eye up to Bronwyn’s aunt once removed (Bronwyn’s dad’s cousin’s wife) Isabel, who is a glorious old lady living in a glorious old house in a glorious village that she knows all the history of, having lived there 20, nearly 30 years, raising Piers and Purdy (ex-punk I’ve yet met). As she showed us around she talked with excitement and enthusiasm about the village across the decades and how Milton Keynes has risen as a spectre in the distance, gaining ground ever nearer. And she remembers when that huge sprawling city was just a thought in some ministers pea brain all those years before.
Her house was beautifully old and full of old books and artefacts along with delicate glassware she collects. We saw a five-day-old foal on our walkabout too and watched mum (big as an elephant) guard her baby. So sweet young life starts. Big life.
From here, photos taken, goodbyes waved, we shot down Macadam in hairy-dicey-Indy 500 traffic to city of lights where traffic oddly quietened and we got to David and Louise’s on time for 6.30 (hand sore again and Broni requesting my company in bed – how could I refuse my nine-stone girl (she says fat, I think not) so better go and leave you to wonder about me – who I was – who I am).
Jeez, it’s a strange and wondrous world. What more can happen to a man in the mere space of one week? Now seven days since last entry and I told of possibilities of fatherhood! Well!
In chronological order, Broni was into the forty days and I’d decided this was it so we came up with all sorts of wonderfully colourful names such as Moonbeast Bumflap Snot Nose but settled with Bubka Blue, Bubka being a member of that great band Deep Turtle, though I thought we’d better find out if the name Bubka had a meaning (like it could mean ‘man who milks cows’, not much of a name for a girl!)
Broni was in particularly nasty moods and I acted with little patience on occasion but how easy I forget. Her cousin Piers was traversing cross country in search of garments for his trip to Pakistan though he had no luck! He popped in for an overnight stay and we took him to the Piccolo Mondo for our favourite pizza and then to the movies.
While in the bar pre-hand Broni took off to the toilets and I chatted with Piers about jazz music – his forte! At last, someone who could advise me on jazz. When Broni came back we headed towards celluloid screens and she told me she’d started bleeding. Hmm.
We watched the film, Mrs Doubtfire, utter crap American trash, unconvincing performances and story with dubious moral ending (what bollocks thought I) and set off home where I talked to Piers with Broni quiet and pondering. Piers went out to pick up his sleeping kit from his car and me and my baby had a misunderstanding which led to tears. She told me this could be her period or worse still, a miscarriage. I had neglected her in favour of looking after our guest and did feel upset. She retired as I put Piers to bed with some John Zorn which I don’t think he was too keen on!
When I eventually came upstairs I found Bronwyn in tears and we comforted each other but I could not stem the flow and I had to let go too feeling the unbelievable sadness emanating from her soul. But I felt that this wasn’t a miscarriage and that she was late due to stress at work and from moving house. On the Monday we went to the doctor who indicated that this was more likely. I hope so too. I’m comforted in the fact that I could be prepared for the birth and raising of my children someday (soon).
On the Monday afternoon, we watched a great movie called Fried Green Tomatoes which I must confess brought a tear to my eye (and many to Broni’s). Tuesday, Broni dropped me in Poole on her way to work in Swanage, (with renewed ideas about causing herself less stress – how many times have I told her to cut down on her workload!) where I waited for the library to open.
With horrible coffee and sandwich I watched the world on its way to work and when in library looked at every single book before settling down to read the first part of Vanity of Doulouz (Kerouac again, friends!), what a great story it was too, dealing with his teenage years and commenting, even back then, on the horrendous advancement of car and it’s associated industry, plus noticing how people seem to saunter everywhere in no particular hurry (ie on their way to the car). It was like the car had transformed everyone into strangely different people without them knowing and just accepting it. There is much debate these days on the future of transport and despite cars doubling on the roads every few years, it looks to be a wasted industry. How I wish we could do away with them. I have been walking to and from Poole all week and it is such a good feeling but then I have the time at the moment. Most normal days I would not, such a trap.
Well, after that I went to the physio at the hospital, a nice young lady, name of Kate, who prodded by bones, pulled and twisted, unsure of my problem. I sat seven minutes on a machine that buzzed electricity into me, supposedly to confuse my brain that there was no pain there. However, that afternoon was the most painful it had been!
Evening passed quiet but I had a fitful sleep complaining of stomach ache and sure enough, I puked up a mouthful in the morning after Broni went to work. I went back to sleep and was awoke by Broni’s phone call at around 10. Straight after I puked up the rest of last night’s tea, grape skins and all! Feeling better I went back to bed and was next awake at twenty to two! I watched a Jacke Chan movie with John and went back to bed again so tired was I.
Broni cared for me the rest of the evening and we soon fell asleep. Long gone are the days of wakeness til two in the morning playing with each other under silky sheets, we work so hard and relax little at this stage but I’m eager to tidy things up here for a big relax in Oz when I get there. I hope my baby can stand it.
And finally, today, Broni once again dropped me into Poole after the most ridiculous argument we had about slices of bread! I have to tell you, dear reader, here and now I talk of arguments often but our life together is not so, we live in bliss and in love and our affection grows stronger every day. Each argument is a lesson – but sometimes us pupils are unwilling to learn.
In the book I’m reading, Bukowski tells he enjoys a women’s company at first but soon finds her eccentricities annoying and becomes tired of her but he has little hope of lasting relationships and is unable to deal with problems rationally. We know we can and our real care for each other will overcome any problems that may arise, never once have I considered walking away from the beautiful woman with whom I now share my life, not for anyone else, not for anything else, what possible reason could there be?
I waited around Poole before my physio appointment drinking that shitty coffee again, this time reading Neal Cassady’s autobiography, more good reading. Physio advised I may have a problem in one joint which leads to all the other problems so sent me to pick up a brace from upstairs. On my way out I met long ago buddy Jeremy, whose pictures me and Broni were looking at only last week! Last time I saw him was about five years ago and I didn’t really want to talk to him and I felt a bit uncomfortable today. I told him of my plans but he didn’t seem particularly interested so I let him talk about himself. He’s been married and divorced after three months, has a child with Vanessa H (from old school days even I remember, short blonde hair) but is living with another girl from Colehill who he was with, arm a-bandaged. And his story depressed me for we were such good friends and now he seems to have a madness that seems to affect so many people. He told of fights and people coming to his house with baseball bats (this is how her arm was broke!) in search of his blood! Surely this is madness? Or mere childishness and oneupmanship. “I’m better than you”.
I feel like I have grown up but not grown old, these people seem to want to recreate their past unhappiness from childhood or teenage years, are they doomed, will they ever see their glory? Life is so rich and varied, yet it is easy to get bogged down in it all. I hope one day to look back on these words and be happy that I got myself out of that bog and stayed out of it!
Jeremy still spoke with the humour of old and I liked that but I think he lost his way with women somewhere, showing none of them much respect that I could see. I wonder if he felt self-conscious telling me all this? I think maybe when we were friends he looked up to me and often took my advice on things and telling me all this he could sense my disapproval? It was a strange encounter and to be honest I’d prefer not to meet him again. When I talk about the madness, I wonder what it is that gets into people. Everyone seems to bitter and resentful. Jeremy’s smiles were unconvincing of happiness. Old Mark B has the same madness, aimless in life and hateful towards women and often others, for no reason what so ever. Don’t they understand that respect has to be earned, both ways? Maybe their lives would be happier with that kind of knowledge but with increasing age seems to come a closing of mind. Fatty I think too, is affected by it. Maybe I’m resented for being optimistic and hopeful for my future, I wish (I really do) that everyone could too.
Well, all this thought got put on paper, I’m glad. Now I think I’ll walk out somewhere and write some poetry, it is a beautiful sunny day and my mind is alive once again with a million zillion thoughts.
What mad destiny had led me here, keyboard sat and twisty back? Last entry into my world made six days gone.
Weekend spent with drunken buddies at the Joiners, we presented P.J. with a 31 candled cake Broni whipped up in the storm of the morning. I took stage for drunken announcement which I don’t remember whether to regret.
Me, my baby and the Maybush mad dogs had drunk ourselves to oblivion and we were barking no more. We hit our various sacks and I fell asleep dreaming of dancing in aisles, hassling young girls telling me they’re with a brother’s friend who’s in a band that’s playing that they can’t quite remember the name of, of P.J.’s face, lit up with grim surprise, of Red Dwarf and Broni’s complaining of tiredness.
Waking with others lain strewn about the house, rest of the crew let themselves in 3am after dumping P.J’s vodka drenched body home. He toilet slept after sickness, no doubt some of our cake included.
We laughed at the stories of the night before and we all lifted from our slumber, some to band practice, others to the industrial mecca of Eastleigh, where me, Broni and Richie consumed coffees at his, then Chrissy’s. She’s occupied all her waking moments and twas good to see her happiness at the poetry booklet, now finished and for sale. She and little tike Amanda read poems together as people came and went like the house was an airport terminal. Poor Chrissy, faced with such loss, I saw some of her scribblings saying ‘Chrissy loves Steve’, recently done. The hullabaloo of the house though must distract her somewhat, surrounded by so many friends. Beautiful Rebecca now able to sit upright without topsy-turvying over on the floor, soon writing poetry I bet!
Came back black highway and relaxed with cheese and wine, for we live like kings, and watched a beautiful film called Orlando and eventually fell asleep to another called The Lover.
My Monday at work cut short as my wrist said ‘Hey Mister, no more you write with me’, so appointment made I wait around the sunny Tuesday at home and on visiting surgery (the receptionist another one of the deja vu people as I’ll now call them) get signed off for two weeks rest and pleasure. But what frustration this brings as I have a million things to put to paper with pen and an arm that won’t accept the challenge, hence here sat typing this!
Midweek brought the freshest sunny day so far this year and I sat in the park watching the world go by and reading some more from Jack, sat desolate in the mountain tops pondering existence and coming up with some pretty good ideas.
All this and more too as Broni is several moondays late and we think up names and cry and wonder about our future and what plans best to make. Nothing definite yet though.
But I’m still full of happiness for the world and know I can overcome whatever challenge life might wish to throw at me.
Two postscripts; Broni hits car at fifty miles an hour reverse! And I’m in the bad books with Fatty though I’ve not yet heard it from his lips and my guess is unlikely too either. Poor boy.
Both Broni and I rushed past our days at work in excitement for our evening. A quick zip of the pans brought us nutrition and, once again, we hot-footed it up the mighty highway to our pals in Eastleigh.
Eastleigh’s Tory MP had been found dead on Monday wearing only stockings and a plastic bag on his head with a cord around his throat and this was the source of constant amusement throughout the evening. The media had been leading with this story every day and were going to town on the sex scandal – it didn’t seem so important that someone had died.
Rob drove us to the Joiners after Rich giving him much hassle for being on the phone so long. Not so patient, our Richard.
Got their about nine and got a beer and conversed with all our other friends. A band of locals took to the stage and pounded through some noisy songs. They had three young fans standing right in front of the stage, admiring their heroes and ritually mouthing the words to every song. I thought that was brilliant. I remember being like them (they helped the band take the equipment out too – dedication!). The band was called Ban Ylang or something similarly rhythmic.
I stood centrally to watch the second band while Bronwyn stood near the bar with ‘our’ crowd. During a break between songs I (and everyone else!) heard Selina shout out ‘It’s Bronwyn’s round’ to which the bass player said ‘Good on Bronwyn’. Fame for my baby comes in small doses. She is famous and fabulous in my eyes.
We’d been in the other bar playing bar billiards and getting smashed and bearing cheeky toothy grins. The second band, Skyscraper, had one good song that I heard and after that were fairly dull but alcohol made me too drunk to care.
We ate chips and the guys stuffed burgers with too much mustard relish. We eventually zipped our way across the midnight skies and were forced into slumber through stupor.
Rich woke us in the morning at 7.20 and after toast and coffee me and my baby and Rob hit the harder highway to hell to London. I drove while Bronwyn showed Rob our photos and then they played backgammon.
Broni, direction-finder general, took us straight to Islington where tonight’s gig was. I had a real quest for food but the guys wouldn’t let me cos we were in some kind of hurry! We had a lot to get through for sure. Broni stopped at every map and said ‘that’s where we are’ which didn’t tell us where we wanted to go!
First thing for us to do was go to Australia House in Aldwych. We caught the frenzy bus in the earth to some place near and hop skipped onto a double red decker missing what could have been the most amazing of food we were ever likely to find. On this bus, I started to love London and wanted to be closer to it. It brought to mind many Clash songs that would name drop London boroughs and famous places and reminded me why things are different in London. Australia House was a breeze. Broni filled in her forms and got them signed there and then.
After a food stop, not up to Broni’s requirements, we tippy-toed a few blocks to Covent Garden Market. Me and Broni reminisced as we walked past an American diner where we had nachos last time we came to Oz House. This time it was full of builders sawing wood and putting up walls for a refit.
We looked in every direction at the market not having any idea which way to go so we checked out some stalls of cheap crappy gothic jewellery and crummy clothes. Broni found a juggling stall and got a demonstration out of the guy there. He was pretty good and gave Broni some ideas for tricks. We had to pass on the clubs though, being out of our minimal price range.
After asking a couple more stall holders the way to Rough Trade we merrily sang up the street as the sun beat through the grimy atmosphere. Several stops and reverses later we found it – the doorstep up the alley occupied by the same person as last time I was there, smoking a fag and begging for money. I reckon he prays on the skaters who probably spend a fortune in Slam City Skates. Actually, I reckon he probably works there!
A quick glance through the Jap noise CD section, Broni denying me time to ponder purchase, we picked up three tickets for entry tonight. We checked out this great health food shop on the next corner too, spending another ten pounds on food and refreshments of exotic flavours.
We headed in any old direction for a tube – it seemed great that you could just about walk in any direction and you’d come across some form of transport that would help you on your way to where you may be headed. It made London seem a whole lot smaller.
Next quest was the British Natural History Museum. A tube or two later found us walking up a long subway, yellowy with paint and time, crammed with people, a girl I thought I recognised. I sometimes have the strange feeling of recognition. If I look at someone for a while then look away and return to them some minutes later I feel sure I’ve met them before. This happened at least twice today!
On this walk, Broni questioned our finances, running through where 75 pounds could have gone in just 24 hours. Another four pounds fifty each later saw us into the museum and here started four hours of exploration. First hour spent studying everything in detail, second spent eating some extortionately overpriced food and wandering around the room with a whale that made me say ‘fuck’ out loud. I also taped the noise of a dolphin saying ‘Hello shit for brains’ or something.
The third hour was spent looking for something more interesting to look at. The fourth spent whizzing around 60% of the rest of the museum with Broni moaning about her feet and how tired she was. We were all tired by now and I had information overload (head explode).
As darkness gradually crept into the outside world we took da tube frenzy rush hour time to Leicester Square in search of more sustenance, eventually settling on a ritzy kinda pizza place which was really a glamourous Pizza Hut. The waitress was kinda cute if she was a day over fifteen!
We left there disturbed at the cost of shoddy service and took the madness line again back to Islington for the evening’s soiree! (Must look that word up in the dictionary sometime). The tube stopped at Kings Cross and the guard poked his head in the door asking us very quietly to leave. We emptied reluctantly on the station wondering what exactly was going on. Next, we were told to go to the other end of the station. As we walked past the next carriage we saw a brown doctor’s bag, we guess, left unattended. Broni got very excited and upset at the same time, as the station was gradually emptied and section by section, shut off.
Up on the surface, a few thousand bemused underground goers searched out alternative arrangements. We hopped on a bus and got back on the trail of adventure and entertainment. After a little dilly and a dally, we exchanged our tickets for entrance into the club they call the Garage.
It was reasonably well packed early and a band was banging away enthusiastically onstage. Met my fellow Jap noise-loving friend Neil but talking was restricted due to the disturbing barrage the three guys on stage were making. They were called ‘Pig’ apparently, though Neil did suffix them with the word ‘shit’. They did lack something and the drummer had pre-recorded drums which he was playing along to, I’m sure.
The place started to pack a bit more and I got the feeling most people were here just to see one band. Next band was Jacob’s Mouse who were very loud and not very interesting – may sound OK on record but not here. As they finished I persuaded pretty Broni nearer the front. She wanted to stop about eight back but I took her to the second row and we waited patiently. None of us really knew what to expect from this freaky ensemble called Boredoms but we had several shapes of madness involved in our daydreamscapes.
On walked six small Japanese folk, picking up instruments on their way. A girl in the band stood on the rail that stops the crowd surging forward, she waited for a second til all the band were ready and proceeded to scream at the top of her voice. She jumped off the barricade as the rest of the band launched into a delirious song-orama! From here on it was total madness and chaos. Eye (singer one) sung several songs with a woolly hat pulled right over his face. The girl ran to the second drum kit, playing that and screaming, when she wasn’t playing trumpet. The guitarist was totally amazing keeping his plectrum in his third finger when picking notes with the other digits.
Both singers were going mad jumping about and during one song jumped against each other in rhythm with the song. A review in Flipside said they were the beginning and end of Rock ‘n’ Roll!
Everyone smiled and loved the band. Both drummers had huge grins most of the time. Eye went crowd surfing and also into a hypnotic chant. This is probably the most amazing band I’ve ever seen and ever likely to see. I wonder what they are like on home turf with all stage props etc.
We left the club with excited faces and excited words. ‘We are Boredom. Come from Japan. Hope you like.’ Yes indeedy.
Me and my baby navigated the way to Waterloo to drop young Rob off to catch the train to Southampton and I was feeling emotionally exhausted. The big bright lights of the city looked fantastic at midnight and I would’ve enjoyed just bumming around but for all the excitement my tiny brain had to endure I was in need of rest. Broni was too and we had several tiny arguments which culminated in me throwing a tantrum outside David and Louise’s.
After making up we woke up David, such a gentle giant, who let us in, made us coffee, we talked for a few minutes and then retired into a most beautiful slumber for the night. Our arrangement to be up at nine was broken by all of us!
We stirred out of our wrapped up slumber around ten and woke ourselves up with cold showers – not through choice I might add! Breakfast was made and we talked and ate as the most glorious sunshine poured into the kitchen and into our souls. Eventually, talk got around to our wedding and Broni’s mum and dad’s thought on the matter. I was very quiet through this as I did not want to upset anyone with my thoughts on religion. Louse and David gave us a few ideas for compromise.
We checked out photos for an hour before deciding to hit the road again. The raging red yellow ball of fire in the sky was still there yet I did not feel completely whole. As we exited London me and my baby talked about the wedding and could not come to an agreement. We both felt stuck. Her wanting to please her parents as well as me and me wanting not to upset anyone but not sacrifice my principles.
After some thought and more discussion, I told Bronwyn I’d marry her with a priest but not with any religious overtones. This seemed like a good possibility to put to her mum and dad.
Despite the sun, our disagreement clouded most of the rest of the journey, though we picked up considerably as we approached Bath.
It’s a strange time warp feeling entering Bath. As you descend the hill side from the north looking into the valley, time seems to go backwards and the light dims.
We drove round the Circle, Royal Crescent and Landsdown Crescent where we first held hands. Aah – how romantic. We found the old B+B we stayed in but alas, no vacancies. It seemed the same story everywhere else too.
After about an hour of traipsing around in car and on foot (and being rudely told to go away by one landlady), I ran into a pub bedecked with old wooden beams and wood fires. The landlord rang up a pal of his who had vacancies, so we took the car round the other side of town to this old bastard pub and got ourselves a huge sparse ugly room to crash for the night.
We crashed, washed, prepared and had a short run back into town, passed a zillion people queueing to go into some hall for something we couldn’t quite work out what. It could’ve explained why there was a lot of people in Bath and everywhere booked up.
We had a drink in the pub that I’d dashed into earlier, after walking upstream the raging murky river. There’s a wealth of hidden walkways in Bath and cafes stuck in the strangest of places, many below street level.
We paid tribute to India again at the Jamuna restaurant. Then, after a drunken search in the bottle shop for Australian port, we hijacked a possed off taxi driver, upset that we could’ve walked such a short distance, who sped off for the fastest taxi drive I’ve ever been on, all for one pound fifty. We opened up the port in our room and fell asleep with the TV on, watching the Winter Olympics.
It took us a great deal of time to get out of bed this morning as firstly the room’s inadequacies did not tempt us and each other’s bodies did. About an ecstasy hour later we went down and got some coffee and omelette that fortified us for the morning.
Back on the road again we navigated our way across beautiful moorland and down, once again, through the crag and crevice of Cheddar Gorge. Beauty is in nature and not very often handmade. Here we ran up and down the road, through the bitter wind taking photos as the sunshine hit the cliffs higher up.
We gave the caves a miss in favour of Wooky Hole just ten miles away. Last time I was here I wasn’t overly impressed but this time I reckon I must have more soul and fire in my heart as I found the caves absolutely thrilling and fascinating. You can’t get much closer to nature than this.
We took photos in the 100ft high chambers as we traversed the steely iron walkways some 30ft above the grey blue chilly waters below. After hearing all the stories about the caves we checked out the paper making in the mill – then through some fairground antiques and into the most amazing maze I’ve ever seen. It was maze of mirrors. You could literally take two steps forward and not be sure where you’d come from. Images of yourself would be reflected on six different mirrors and you could walk up to your own back or see yourself from the side. We were so fascinated we went in twice.
Outside, in reality, we high-tailed it to Glastonbury to check out the scrummy Blue Note Cafe. Glastonbury is a strange place – it’s very nice and relaxed but the hippy attitude seems kind of fake. The shops sell hippy culture junk and million books of all descriptions on how to find yourself. We did buy a CD of just percussion which seemed jolly interesting.
By this time we’d worn ourselves out and set off for home where relaxation was beckoning. After a quick, yet uneventful ride home through dusky paths of tarmac we sat down with coffees and enjoyed our new musical soundtrack of rhythms. I’d guess we fell asleep after that.
The next few days were spent working and writing all this. Monday brought the promise of snow and by late evening an inch had already fallen. The once grim terraced rows now transformed, as light reflected from every inch of crispy white. We took a slippery drive down to the park and took photos and threw a ball or two.
Next morning found us under five inches and Broni rightly took the bus to Upton to work. I arrived at my work some two and a half hours late and my day just whizzed by. I noticed with some irony the council workers clearing footpaths of snow that would’ve melted away in a few hours anyway!
Wednesday found me giving Broni a long slow massage which developed into squelchier things and we fell asleep in each other’s arms after a port or two. We woke in the morning and in love.
“Always I was running, always was running, running to throw switches, running in my sleep and running now – happy.” – Kerouac
Woke up wrapped up in my baby. Her skin so smooth and soft. Is it any wonder I wake up erect, groin pushing against her delicate flesh. I woke gradually but it took more minutes to stir her from her slumber.
She is an angel in the morning – she is an angel with a sore head. Sour, I called her this morning. We laughed it off though and I set to a day’s work head held high. I actually felt worse bodily wise today than the previous two I had off work ill. I’ve a cold coming on in the head and it promises to be a bastard!
Read Broni’s Dummy and Maddy’s letter this morning which gave me much food for thought though playing catch up on two days work saw to it that I forgot about it til my baby picked me up again. Some days just flash by like they didn’t actually happen.
My baby worked herself silly again and then cooked a lovely meal and it all caught up with her after elegant sufficiency. I took the initiative and dragged her out of her coma and we went and played along the watery piers at Poole Park. She dropped her draws to piss, not realising it was in the light cast from yonder shore – we laughed and ran and let swans follow us, gliding gently across the black waters.
On return to base camp Broni set about more work (!) which took up the rest of the evening. I took the opportunity of writing up some more poems (dating back to 1988). There was a couple there I thought were ok. I’d written down a couple of ideas I’d had floating around in my head and decided to put headgear into action and write full poems around them. One worked really well and the other led to another great poem. I wonder if I’ll look back in six years time at these and just think ‘they’re ok’!
Hey, here’s something I wanted to write down: “The world is permeated with roses of happiness all the time, but none of us know it. The happiness consists in realising that it is all a great strange dream” – Jack Kerouac. With that, I’ll end the day knowing it’s an exciting time ahead.
Bummed around the hollow house. A box inside other boxes.
From that box to cardboard box packed up my belongings in anticipation of our move. The anticipation has already brought beaming teethy smiles to our weekly work-worn faces. Here starts the weekend of the rest of our life. For some time, anyway.
Tripped the fantastic freeway, not before Bronwyn had seven panic attacks trapped by the constricts of time. I strummed the guitar quietly but could not temper her whirlwind. Arrived in Southampton exactly on time!
Had a little beer before hot-footing it to the bus stop. Fifty-nine times I wanted to step off the bus to relieve myself behind some dirty shop, down some dangerous back alley. Held off and dashed to the pub toilets.
Boogied away with friends and beers, laughed and laughed and laughed and wound up broke.
One food stop later and emotions were running high, much discussion that I no longer recall. One taxi journey later and emotions ran high in our little friend Rob. Beers turned to tears and with a little advice from my beautiful baby I shut the fuck up. The tears dried up with the beers and sleep met the agenda.
Up early to a dry ugly mouth, soon satisfied with cups of hot coffee waitered by Dave. Johnny played DJ and we tapped our toes to Superchunk, Rocket from the Crypt and Leatherface. Johnny found his air guitar and occasionally hit the right notes.
Broni, Rob and I discussed the booklet in more depth and things should be together soon. Rob’s done an excellent job so far.
Much talk about Mr Cynical (now self-censored!) and going to London to check out the Natural History Museum and the Boredoms in Feb.
Put rubber to road and popped into Chrissy’s, dropping in a beautiful picture of her and Steve from Corfu. Many children ran the house. We all left – them to their Gran’s, us to our home and the quest for food!
Supposed to hit the flicks at four with smiling Kerry but plans changed and garlic bread and sparkling wine became more wanting. Me and baby chatted for well over an hour in that dim dingy living room that we’ll be leaving behind.
Pete, Kathryn, Steve and Rebecca got sporting and went ice skating. I got mushy and read Kerouac to my baby until she couldn’t concentrate on his meandering trails of sentences. I felt romantic and poetic as I hope the prose relays.
The guys came back from their adventures – Steve and Pete both claiming to be ‘the best!’ I hit the great outdoors and run the grimy streets for Haagen-Daaz – well worth the effort – many thoughts came to me and boy, am I glad to be alive (with the intention of living life to the full). Rob lent us a CD of Phillip Glass with Allen Ginsberg readings – it’s beautiful. Another one with a way with words. I love all that poetic stuff and I love that about me.
1994ever 