Nought but his today. Sneaking a glimpse of K’s poetry in the bookshelf: “Once enlightenment has come to you, you realise you’ve always been enlightened,” or an approximation of the same. A cool analogy which ties in with my own thoughts and feelings, looking, in hindsight, at my past five years. It was the first page I turned to and the only thing I read as I hurriedly put it back and left, unnerved by this prophecy.
Tag: Kerry
Consciousness has plagued us and we cannot shake it – 8th September 1994
The Dolphin Coffee House.
The first floor, walk-through coffee house, shops either side. A convenient stop off for the weary-legged customer, the long day shop assistant, the young writers brief discussions about the rights and wrongs of last week’s deal.
A comfy spot to relax with your cuppa, read some, contemplate. The brown, old ladies sit for a while, looking at the birthday cards bought for granddaughter, still in nappies. New life, old life.
The young suits come in pairs. Tall, dark, handsome, slicked-back hair, striking ties. Empties two sugars and stirs. Stirring, stirring, with a brief look around to survey the surroundings. Tapping cigarettes, preparing the soft tobacco end, smooth for phosphor ignition, sit and blow smoke sideways. The unwritten politeness.
What important discussions take place?
One arm gesturing, in control of the conversation, subliminally talking down to their colleague – the stronger voice sat back in chair, one arm draped over the adjacent seat. The other, the second suit, sat forward attentive, affirming, nodding agreement.
An older gentleman in bright blue uniform trousers and lighter blue shirt sits alone, sipping and smoking too, ruminating his garden and the weeding to be done this afternoon after their part-time cleaning jobs is done in some fancy department store. He loves his job and loves his garden. Happy that life has dealt him this hand of loneliness. Happy to be alone, at one with himself and his flowers. Peace and content reflected in each delicate petal, tenderly cared for by shabby hands.
Young mothers gossip like geese while little blue points and gesticulates, standing on chairs like only children can get away with. Mother shines, peaches and cream complexion, the rosy glow of life come forth from their loins. Shine like only a mother can shine.
A slinkily dressed young lady shop assistant sits cross-legged, clothes draping her figure with the latest cream and fawn fashion. Blond hair, neat and proper, bob-like fashionite. Resting her feet and toying with her hair, twisting it around her delicate bone-coloured fingers. Adjusts herself in her seat as her skirt fell open to show soft smooth legs, not for our eyes. She sits and waits, until heated up food is ready. She stands and takes the gourmet. Her game is up. She walks backs back to the hairdressers.
Delicate fingers, hair fanatic.
The suits are on their second cigarette – same positions.
The food and coffee counter tempt with their starry lights pinpoint huge rolls stuffed with mashed egg mayonnaise, ham and tomato. Two green-pinnied ladies run around filling cups and passing plates. The orange juicer bubbles away in back, attracting eyes from the queue. Another, younger green-pinny wanders around collecting lip-sticked cups and emptying cigarette butts into a plastic tub.
Great circular light hand from the squared false ceiling, low light. A tender background, while sun streams in the huge bay-type windows, picking up the greenness of the plastic fauna. The plants are so real they look fake. Large green pillars dominate the open plan room, holding up ceiling, pushing down floor. Not easy negotiation for the wheelchair bound. The floor swiped clean is roman mosaic marble, green calm and white calm. Not many fights and arguments in this place, I’d bet, as the eyes take in the subliminal peace and serenity.
Here I am, set to embark right into the heart of the modern world – sick as I am of it, I’m never far away. All this would be here going on, even if I was out picking fruit in the depths of central Australia. Does fruit grow there? Does anything grow there? But I’ll go and pick that fruit to gain some sense of balance, to furthermore realise the madness that young writers detailed all those moons ago, predicting the sad, mad world of consumerism and mass marketing.
Sucked in to the corporate dream by Ronald and Mickey, because it’s simply easier. All these lives wandering around me as I sit here watching. They are not sad, they are laughing and smiling and talking. All making the best of themselves against the odds, none wishing to search for a better place. A better place in their souls. I’m still searching though. If not for them, for myself. My frustration is my knowledge of better things.
My guts churn to watch young families reared on Nintendo and McDonalds – but to strike away is too difficult, trapped then and content to make the best of it. Happy with one’s lot. I’m lucky I have a sense of strength and good circumstance to act against it in my own sweet way.
With some trepidation I’m heading for the city. The biggest cattle market of human carnage and despair. With a bright smile, I’ll cheer them along. With calm words, I will sooth their tempers. With a gentle touch, I’ll invade their hearts with happiness.
So, I take it upon myself to make a difference, to make my life count. To stand for something I believe in.
The suits are still here, puffing away, choking down endless coffees and another hairdresser lady pops over for her vittles. Spotted a mile off, long auburn hair, beautifully shiny, bobbing with the sway of the cool walk, hips sexually rocking in motion. Cream blouse and chic black trouser out of the catalogue of Barbie’s house. She’s cool as an iceberg in the Sahara, confident and sophisticated, she takes no shit from her boyfriend, who come and go, unable to keep up with her requirements and expectations. Not your average woman’s magazine reader. More likely the writer of forward-thinking woman’s articles for her juniors.
Now, some joggers enter, the sports complex upstairs much be open. Tow ladies, pre-Badminton, ordering juices and mineral waters. Elegant legs, muscles tight with energy packed inside clinging lycra. Bundles of lightning waiting to explode with reflex and dexterity. Particular ladies. They imitate each other in their seats like a mirror is between them. I suspect they are in love.
Cafe
(Sickly aroma of coffee, strong and white,
invades my earth-damaged nostrils
tuck into great chunks of cheese and tomato
watch and observe, chew slow on that bread)
Green tiles, green lines, calm the nerves
of old ladies with grandchildren in tow
watch them and wonder, how they came
and later, how they go
The suited young men pontificate and gesture
to juniors, cigarettes in either hand
the sporting gay lovers imitating each other
before playing games earlier planned
Couples, lovers, single-parent mothers
the beautiful hairdressers, all stop by and eat
to put their old feet up, sit for a second
before heading back down to the lonely street.
The hum of life, the sweet vibrations, constant flow, liquid movement, the tension, the stress.
In brief, 14 tea chests packed, left on Monday, me waiting patiently outside reading Jack in the sunshine and waiting past deadline time, til little sprinkles of rain start descending earthward, teachestward, but it soon passes and eventually a lorry and it’s drivers come and take away all my precious belongings, safe journey, see you on the other side!
And day later we send more stuff via the Postal Service which costs us a ton of money but hell, it’s got to be done.
So now we have about four suitcases full of things to live with for the next three weeks, and in fact for eight more after that, as the chests won’t arrive till mid November somewhen. It’s like a relief now they are gone, we have no control over their destiny so we absolve ourselves from any worry, not that we worry much in the household anyway. Good fortune follows our good outlooks, only good things can happen to us.
Broni cracks a little, had enough of repeating the same lines to everyone we meet about our plans, she wants to be alone. With me. But we can’t get away from the people living in this house and all the appointments we’ve made, I’ve accepted that but it is somewhat easier for me to digest as I am on my lonesome during the day. I brighten her up with some love and affection.
Later, Lisa comes round with her new man friend, Jonathan, and they take us to the Bermuda Triangle Bar and we feed up on gossip and Budweiser on draft (lordy!), time rattling by we leave drunk as skunks, happy to see friends and be in their company, not sad yet to be leaving them. I feel like I’m gonna be hit when I’m there, homesick like but I’ll handle it with love and help from my angel sweetheart.
Back home, Kerry has broken her promise to herself to not drink on her own or during the week, she is very sad, missing her love in Tokyo, I feel for her but don’t feel right making her stick to her original plan knowing what she’s going through. Difficult cos I know that demon drink will spiral you downward if not handled well and proper, what can I say?
The next night our appointment is with family, Broni arrives home asleep on her feet, lies down on the couch next to me and falls away without a whisper of a word of thought. I wrap myself around her and hold her with deep love, rocking her gently to stop her snoring getting any louder, about 20 minutes later. Twenty more and she’s awake again, at least her eyes are open, I run her a lavender strawberry bath and leave her to it, fighting real rough tonsillitis and headaches.
Mother has come to pick us up, with her sister Shirley also, and we head off to cousin Sharon and Ken’s with son Mungo, their radical 18-year-old, whom they practically disowned when rejecting public school and trying out the drugs of life instead. But hell, what a nice kid he seemed to me, reminding of Steve in politeness and good looks.
A feast of English food was prepared and devoured, with the best white or red wine your choice, and port at the end, is that how one does these things properly, Jeeves? I make light of their well-to-do attitude, while not offensive, is slightly off-putting to my more down-to-earth approach to life, but nice people to go to all that trouble for us anyway, me who they haven’t seen for probably five years or more.
I drop Broni in it when I see the piano and she plays some for us, sounding absolutely beautiful and much more proficient under this pressure which I’m guilty of putting on her but interesting to see as she rarely plays for more than five seconds at a time on Kerry’s piano.
I love her, what a magician she is, we curl ourselves up, night, JimBob.
Shock brown brick clashes into the sky, grey and steely behind. Old building, sash windows, regular rectangles ‘cept the end. White, brown dirtied drainpipes slide down at intervals sucking out waste from the depths inside, like alien suckers shattering skin slurp! slurp! Blinds open, half open, half up or shut behind each window a story or a hundred stories, all personal, not to be disclosed – secret doctor-like. Pitiful short trees fail to brighten up the crowded car park, absent of leaves in the youth of autumn, but for one silver-skinned birch still magnificent in its dark green plumage, branches thrashing wildly, like mad bongo voodoo drummers, in the greasy wind.
Now I can’t show you all the things I’ve seen and I can’t make you feel anything, certainly not what they meant to me – 2nd September 1994
It’s an exciting life. When Broni gets home I have a delicious meal prepared for her and sit yummying as we talk about our day.
Broni has been very busy at work and soon falls down dog tired but after some rumination we take a gentle stroll into the park as the sun slowly descends somewhere behind some cloud or other. We sit and watch the ducks and swans and talk about belief and good things. We realise how lucky we are, to have each other, to have this adventure and to have the future.
When I get back I have a long chat with Rob on the phone, which involves more shit flying in the Fatty department, which will bore me to death to repeat here and particularly as I am making great pains to forget all about that sad part of my life and to look towards brighter things. It is sad for me to carry a thorn in my side but now I feel able to let it go (haven’t I said this before?) Now feels different though and my future is absolutely soaring away from everything I know here, all the things I like but all the things I dislike too.
Later Broni and Kerry are talking and I join them in the bedroom, Kerry is talking like a maniac, high on life, full of herself because she finally feels comfortable with who she is and recognises her place in the world and realises her worth. She says it’s taken ten years but if you could see her bright chirpy cherub face you can see ambition and content. It was so good to hear her talking positively about life especially after my talk with Rob which dealt more with clearing out negative emotion.
So the cloud over me soon disappeared and I felt a wave of enthusiasm for life come over me and a little bit of loss for not having Steve around to talk to. Broni has me sussed pretty well though and reflects all my good points which make me feel much better and soon we are wrestling and playing in our makeshift bed on the floor.
Before we know it we are awake again, missed our dreams and she is off to work as I get up and cycle around the harbour taking video memories every now and then, through the park to the quay and back along the circuit, catching glimpses of beauty and depths through the cameras eye and hell, I feel so good inside myself today.
It is so easy to forget just how lucky you are to be alive and mornings like these bring it home that no matter what goes wrong, will still be okay.
Now is what’s happening, now is real, live for the now. I will see the sunset over a beautiful peaceful world.
28th Jul 2024 – A video shot of Horton Tower as we were passing by sometime.
It’s a new generation of electric white boy blues – 30th August 1994
I’m shattered, we’ve been at Reading Music Festival for the last four days. Tenting down in the dust and dirt, eating half cooked veggie burgers in a sea of tin cans and plastic food containers as a thousand people walk by you in the blink of an eye, on their way to getting pissed at eight in the morning or coming down off the previous night’s high.
Crusty scroungers push a pram full of puppies in search of free amber nectar or tar of any sort. A hundred young girls queued for the seven or eight toilets, from six in the morning, daring each other to go in the one second from the end. People slept where they fell and some fell in the bushes where people pissed. Some never slept and others slept through while their favourite band was playing.
In the arena was a comedy tent, the Melody Maker tent and the main stage and you’d be lucky if you could get anywhere near any of them. Well, we did get to see Sebadoh’s guitar breaking set which was about the most exciting thing all weekend. In fact time did seem to drag at certain points but we were kind of happy that we had nothing to do except drink and relax, and occasionally running across to the record fair to the nice clean toilets.
First thing to do when camping with 50,000 other people must find a decent toilet which other people don’t know about. Most people had to pay a pound to go in the record fair but we just slipped in each time claiming to work there. Of course, we had plenty of friends in there, Simon, Rich, Baz, Gaz, Mark, John and his wife; we even got roped in to do Simon’s stall for part of Saturday morning.
Anyway, on the campsite we came up with Rob, Rich, PJ and Warren, who none of us knew and didn’t hang around that much. On Sunday, joined by Chrissy, Sharon, Selena, John, Tina and Rob who out drank us as we slept through their insane partying; I wish we could’ve stayed awake on that last night but we’d just had enough by then.
We eventually left on Monday morning after a very nice man helped us get the car started. A beautiful bath and an hours sleep saw us into the evening but we exhausted of all energies and just kind of lazed on into bed, Broni reading me love poems as I drifted off once again into unconsciousness.
And then today is still slow as we clean up the house in preparation for David and Louise coming down soon and then Kerry’s return tomorrow. Things are starting to seem much bigger now as we have only four weeks to go before I leave – it’s scary. Yeah, it’s scary, kind of huge.
I was sat in PJ’s campervan drunk and stoned and it hit. These guys here, I’m going to miss them. Not so easy to just ring up and gossip, and I’ll miss out on the tiny stories, the little things that help you understand what people are like, the details, you know the bits between the lines. When you communicate over a great distance you feel like you just want to mention the really important things, big things, but I’ll be wishing to hear the other things too.
It’s getting so hot people are dripping with sweat – 2nd August 1994
Sheila turned up first (Broni’s cousin) after a six hour train trip down from Newcastle Under Lyme. Then Lisa and Mykala (how do you spell that name!?), Simon (pictured), Rich, Barry, Garry and Mark , followed by Mick and Ray, all the Southampton gang and Murray and Jasper.
Tony took on the record decks but Barry offered us a couple of hours of 3 string guitar entertainment outside. The dance floor rocked, alcohol drunk, and people dropped, then more came (and more) and people we didn’t know took over and mingled and mixed and left again til about 3am some neighbour asked to be quiet outside so we took everyone in ‘cepting the record fair boys who elected to sleep under the stars.
And at about 4am me and Broni headed for bed, where most already were, to be showered with confetti by John and Rob! And the next thing I know, an almighty thunderstorm, in and around my dreams and then I wake up real zombie-like, wishing those left farewell as they slowly sauntered off home to nurse their hangovers and headaches.
I took John, Kerry (another Kerry), Shiela and Broni down to Bournemouth to see the guys at the record fair. Barry was crashed out in the back of his van and Garry and I couldn’t get a word out of him (he did groan some). Everyone looked fucked but said they enjoyed themselves. They’d just woken up as the rain began this morning too.
Then off to the Russell Cotes museum for an hour of zombied interest. Lots of beautiful Japanese things in there but as you can imagine, we saw everything through blurred eyes and double vision.
Back home (sort of), I helped John move his stuff to my mum’s, where he’s staying for 7 days before his trip to Europe, while Broni and Shiela slept back at Kerry’s. Thankfully the rest of the day passed by without too much incident and sleep crept over us around 10pm.
Monday morning woke us happy and giggling and wow, I feel like I’ve never been so much in love with my beautiful girlfriend, best friend, Broni. Her beautiful soft skin turns me on and our bodies compliment each other as they fit together (I don’t just mean sexually) in embrace. Snug fit baby!
More later – this wrist is on it’s way out I’m sure! The chiropractic helped but I just can’t help abusing my body in one form or another!
Tell yer ma, tell yer pa, our love’s gonna grow – 1st August 1994
Well here I am, many days later – time has been against us once again. Now I’m at work, all stirred up caffeine wise and about to briefly run down some of the stuff that’s been going on this week.
I must mention the Danish hitchhiker I picked up. A real relaxed cool dude who told me of his travels hitching across Europe, Russia, Siberia, China and into Tibet. And going to places where they’d never seen white people before, camping under the stars and spending days in countries with nothing to do except watch the world go by in all its beauty (can you imagine me doing that!!). I asked him what started him off travelling and he said it was an English sunset. Time and travel had turned him into a beautiful person, not craving after the greed of modern life. A balance I would find difficult to cope with what with my possessions which I love so much, although I know they are meaningless in my heart and in my soul. Much respect to that dude anyway and he showed me it back. We understood each other and knew we were both good people.
At the end of the last piece I wrote we went to Southampton and we saw us some bands. One from Belgium called Byetail, their drummer later purchasing some of my beloved records. When they played they impressed me enough to donate the Mission of Burma album to him too. He was pleased! (He was a cool guy too). And back home, intending to pack some more but knowing it wasn’t going to happen.
And then, Monday out for a meal at Rosemary’s. She is a fellow speech therapist friend of Broni’s. One of the few who is okay and works hard and is friendly. Some of the stories I hear about the others are incredible. Real typical social climbing stuff and putting themselves into positions where they don’t have to work so hard and when they do do some work they make sure they get the really well-paid jobs. It seems whatever your profession there’s always some of that bullshit going on. Well, we had a great meal and lots of wine which meant we had to stay over the night (night four of being drunk!).
Tuesday, Broni went out with Danny, Joe and Stella (over from Amsterdam) while I did some packing up and crashed out fairly early, all the late nights are catching up (but I think Broni got in at about 2!).
And Wednesday more packing before racing up to Newport via Southampton to see the excellent Wholesome Crack, okay Swine Flu and the fucking awesome Drive Like Jehu, whose music just took me away and made my body jibber and twitch that my head nearly fell off. Unbelievable!
Back to Simon’s and to sleep about 4.30, me and Broni in the hallway, Rob, Rich and two Irish guys in the front room. Of course with Simon’s kids we were up at 8.30. Young Elliot first shy but then running around shouting and screaming. A real cutie! We hung around Newport so long, a planned game of golf went out the window. Eventually driving back zombiefied and home where I slept for an hour or two as Broni continued packing stuff up. I woke up for a couple more hours to eat some food but couldn’t keep my eyes open so once again went where the Sandman walks.
Friday, we moved a ton of stuff down to Kerry’s – I think that took all day, I can’t remember. And then went up to Wimborne to show Kerry another nice Tandoori, suitably stuffed and we went back and crashed out – a small day in descriptive terms but a huge one in reality. Our old house now empty of all possessions.
It’s Saturday, up at 5:30 to take Kerry up to Heathrow to catch a plane for Helsinki to Tokyo. Had fun watching people from a hundred different countries go by, hustling and bustling! And back to make preparations in our old house for the party later that night. We hired out a big disco and set it all up and decorated the house with balloons and streamers and spray string. And waited for the masses to come and slowly but surely they did.
Later dudes!
Searching for pictures to use on this post led me to this page: https://abstractanalogue.tumblr.com/post/167514322499/drive-like-jehu-uk-tour-1994-press-clippings
which, would you believe, is written by one of the Irish dudes who stayed with us all at Simon’s house!
He feels life his strongest connection, between the yelling and the sleep – 26th July 1994
Phew! I’m sat in our room, now bereft of most of the items one would consider creature comforts. TV, video, computer, stereo, table, chair etc all sold or packed up or returned to their rightful owners.
Today was the first day of rain for a couple of weeks I’d guess. Just a light drizzle on a grey day, the air now fresh and sweet with the scent of thirsty flowers. Myself, a flower child thirsty for the waters of life pouring all around me and, here and there, I dip my hand in making gentle ripples across my universe. Though the last few days seem like I’ve been jumping up and down in the puddles, splashing my way through the madness!
Oh yes! I drove across the farmland again last week, to the farm with the handsome farmhand and had to deliver some stuff into one of the chicken sheds as before. This farm is an egg farm and I’d guess in each shed were thousands and thousands of chickens crammed in, laying eggs for Joe Bastard to eat for breakfast.
So, the first time I’m in the shed I look around – it’s very dark, above is a floor with big slats and beyond, the roof. On the floor above are cages, the whole length of the shed (about 100 metres). I look up where we are and the cages are empty. The only sound to be heard is like a whistling of the wind. The stench is awful. I look across the width of the shed and see the floor stacked up to 6ft high in places, in chickenshit. Guess they hadn’t had time to clear it up yet. I left a bit wiser, a bit curiouser.
When I went the second time, I was alone and so I had a look about bit more. The whistling wind was a bit louder this time and I heard faint clucking noises. I approached the piles of shit and looked up and saw hundreds and hundreds of skinny featherless chickens crammed into tiny cages, for what I would guess would be their whole sorry lives. But what shocked me was the lack of noise. All those chickens and no noise! Are they bred without vocal glands, do they have them removed or have they resigned themselves to confinement and given up hope of freedom? Did they even know what freedom was? Wow – all that stuff going on in my head!! I wonder if Joe Bastard thinks about stuff like that when dipping his soldiers into the yolk?
Friday, we went barefoot for an Indian meal with Kerry celebrating the end of term and the six or seven weeks summer holiday. She got a ton of presents from her class too, which really pleased her. We had to take her to bed quite early though as alcohol took her over – this time for a happy pissed!
Saturday, Broni and I picked up our wedding rings, mine now looking great – I’m really pleased with it and will treasure it forever. We got a couple of hours packing in before shooting off to Southampton to Chrissy’s, picking up Rob on the way. Sharon was there with her kids too, but once the kids were out of the way we quietly drank and puffed on a peace joint and gladly relaxed to ‘The Terminator’. One by one, people faded and finally ended up with me and Rob having that great talk about life, the universe and everything, just like I used to with Steve (God, I miss you so much Steve). Knowing the kids were going to wake up early we called it a day at about 4:30 just as it was getting light! Sure enough a couple of hours later we were up again, though fairly relaxed as Chrissy and Sharon took off with the kids leaving us to bum around before Broni and I had to go to Portsmouth for Stephanie’s christening.
Stephanie is Joe and Stephen’s daughter. Joe being the first person Broni got to know here in Poole. And Broni to be godmother for the third time. I’ll finish this off later as another cup of coffee is required right now!
It was a stunningly hot day and with my lack of sleep I was feeling very faint – it was actually nice to go into the chapel where it was cooler. Stephen is a Navy diver so the christening took place on HMS Nelson naval base with pretty tight security. Not being into the religious bit I watched Broni holding the wriggling tyke still as possible and smiled as the guy (is he a priest or chaplain or something?) poured holy water from an upside down divers helmet (!) over her forehead (Stephanie’s, not Broni’s).
With that over all thoughts (of mine) were on my stomach and sustenance. We went out of the base and over into a big stately home type place (all this in Portsmouth city centre) guarded by some young army dude carrying a machine gun. It occurred to me that the boy may suffer a heat madness and go on a crazy killing spree but that’s my twisted imagination for you! This old place was breathtaking. Huge staircases and pictures of Nelson and massive solid silver statuettes of Queen Elizabeth the Second on her horse. It was pretty breathtaking. We enter the big room with a bar and all leather upholstery, like imagine the meeting rooms at the House of Lords or something like that. Champagne flowed and food eaten (we stuffed ourselves and quite rightly felt sick after!) and I was taking in the surroundings, being totally alien to them. I love these new experiences, I really enjoy things that I sometimes expect not to like. In another room the walls were painted with scenes from old battles like the Armada and Trafalgar. Huge detailed paintings faded with time but still glorious in their nature. Tired and exhausted we left for Southampton.
I have to stop again till tomorrow – I just can’t carry on – my mind is a-racing with a trillion different things.
This is an image that just won’t fade – 19th July 1994
Then up to Old Sarum, the old town of Salisbury in Roman times, with magnificent views, particularly of the Roman roads that met their 2000 years back. We sunbathed and slid down banks, climbed up them and avoided paying to get in. A way cool place – go see.
We videoed some wildflowers and wild insects and then headed home to Poole where Broni, Rob, John and I went down the pub for dinner and a couple of beers to celebrate/commiserate, before walking down to Kerry’s to watch a video. Unfortunately we picked Body of Evidence. What crap! Nuff said.
So’s, after watching a bit of the third-place play-off in the World Cup (Sweden well ahead though still don’t know the final score) we stumbled home drunkenly and guess what? I can’t remember anything else of that night. Ho-hum.
But Sunday, once again I woke wrapped in Broni and let’s just say we didn’t get up for an hour or two us being too interested in each other. But breakfasted on, then mad rushed us fab foul four again to the beach to meet Chrissy, Sharon (Steve’s sister), Amanda (Chrissy’s daughter), Luke (Sharon’s son – The maddest baddest little bastard ever! And of course exceptionally cute in his few years of age – totally lovable!) and Jennifer (Amanda and Luke’s friend). So for five hours, we played football, catch, volleyball, frisbee and Luke’s special game ‘knock you over and jump on top of you and throw sand in your face!’ We all spent most of the day laughing and playing and having good old-fashioned childish fun. You can’t begrudge that can you?
Exhausted we came home, Rob back up to Southampton, me and John to watch the football (sprawled out in the front room) and Broni upstairs to watch the film ‘She’ll Be Wearing Pink Pyjamas’. The football, the World Cup final, was a slight disappointment though reasonably entertaining and a shame to be settled on penalties at the end, sparking the age-old debate of how to settle a stalemate match. It being late and us exhausted we still found some enthusiasm for an idea would come up with holding a party on the Saturday before we are evicted. The cunning bitch Julie left on Saturday afternoon, thankfully, which is an immense relief all round – the last we hear from her I hope though we may have to chase her up for bills sooner or later.
And so it came to Monday – the day of little occurrence of note, save John and I playing frisbee up at the park, in the most delicate beautiful rain and humidity, till darkness swamped the evening. When I got back me and Broni played silly buggers till bedtime recharging ourselves with each other’s love and closeness.
We also, over the weekend, decided that if Rob comes to Oz for the wedding, he’ll be our best man. Hey man, cool – will ask him soon. And everything will be mad frenzy now, packing, sorting, writing letters, changing addresses, closing bank accounts and fucking partying. Go dudes! Oh yes, good can come from bad – just watch us prove it.
(Later) Phew. It’s scorching hot, preparation for the coming summer in Australia (destiny – what the card!) Drove across some wide-open land today, fields upon fields of corn and crops, cows and the bull. Down dusty tired tracks by dung heaps, open space is like…it’s like….freedom. At the end of that journey was a farm with a pretty farmer’s daughter and her way cute two-year-old (I’m guessing) and a handsome farm boy who would charm the undies off a nun if maybe he wasn’t the village idiot, knowing nothing else but muck and chicken shit. (This is all in my mind of course – who knows what these people may do by night. I could see this guy at some nightclub bar with a queue of girls lined up to caress his rippling muscles – like I said, who knows?)
And I’m out in the sticks now, driving through some sleepy village that even has two names, like one had forgotten and another thought up – and imagine the village war between the farmers and the petrol pump attendant families over which name to use (out here they may still have a say – imagine us try to change the name of Bournemouth to Old Bastard or something).
And I gets to thinking, seeing some old dude bent over double with age, where I might be in 100 years time. Hmm? And I was thinking of something Rollins wrote which I’ll write ye down when I get home and maybe I’ll find a connection. Anyway, think about where you will be every year for the next 100 years okay – see what you come up with (go for it I say).
It’s the same I sometimes wonder if something or other’s in my headbone – 6th July 1994
Well today I’m tense as all hell. Muscles knotted up tighter than Rollins and his band. What to do to relieve the pressure?
To finish off yesterday’s summary, the party at Kerry’s soon degenerated into sombreness and I watched the football in the other room most of the time (me being sober too). After five months of not drinking Kerry really went for it but got pissed sad instead of pissed happy – I hope she learns from it that maybe drinking isn’t such a good idea all the time! She’s sensible though and I think she’ll work through all her sorrows (her dad recently departed) and not drink her way through them.
And Broni was shattered from working far too hard again. I took her down the park and watched her face light up excitedly when I let her drive the van, hence the continuation of tenseness.
This waiting period for us is very hard and I hope we will overcome any problems that arise easily and quickly and hope the change over to another country makes us happy (goddamn, all the mega changes in our life – happening in the next six months – only two and a bit months left now).
Must try to relax and let myself go a bit. I know this for fucks sake. More later.
I got a Honda 125 in my shed and I don’t know how to put it back together again – 5th July 1994
Well, I didn’t hold out much hope and indeed, Ireland are out and on the next plane home, as they say, losing 2-0, with two ridiculous mistakes to let Holland in. A reasonable match, Broni took five though and watched ‘The Piano’ again on video upstairs.
John-boy turned up with newly purchased motorbike and face alight with delight. Then onto Kerry’s for me and Broni, with food and drink and fun on our minds.
Just before we left I let Julie know we were not very happy with the bills situation, particularly after she just got some money through and pissed it away in the pub. You know she told me she lent some money to someone!
Jen was already at Kerry’s which was a bit foreboding but we politely chatted away. 70-year-old Ron came from next door (such a cool bloke for his age – I’d like to be like him, I think, when I reach that age). Then Kerry’s mum and Liz and her two kids. Champagne was drunk and the story of Kerry’s surfing accident told each time someone else came round. Her face not looking as bad as expected.
1994ever 