I glanced back on my life – 22nd July 2020

Last night as I was going to sleep I remembered more of the dream that I had yesterday night. We – not sure who – were in some kind of outdoor festival/playground and I was scared to go headfirst down a cardboard tube in the ground. I don’t recall last night’s dream at all. Quick one today – want to meditate.

23rd Sep 2022 – Perhaps I had recently been remembering the time when I was six or seven and wouldn’t get on an escalator with my mum at a London Tube station. Escalators were truly scary for a little boy who had no idea what it was or how it worked and despite mum’s assurances that it was fine, I stood at the top crying my eyes out as she disappeared downwards. A very nice man walked me down the stairs to reunite with her a minute later. Such trauma!

Gratitude Journal

I am so happy and grateful for the foot inserts I can wear to try and make my feet feel better.

It was Four Tops all night with encores from stage right – 24th-27th February 2018

It’s becoming obvious that I’m not going to be able to keep up with regularly posting updates here as time seems to slip on by.  I’ll do my best to keep note of things and get to them when I can but not sure how I’m going to be able to keep them concurrent with events from 1994, of which there is still a mass of writing for that year in my diary.

If I just limit myself to a paragraph per note I’ve made this post is going to get quite long.  I’ll try and be more concise.

So, our final morning in Dorset sees me going through some boxes of things my mother kept over the years.  I’m interested in the photos more than documents such as birth and death certificates and old school reports.  In particular are a couple of school photos I’m guessing from when I was 12 and 13.  You can just see my hair starting to get more punked up, for which I got so much shit at school at the time, from teachers and older kids who nicknamed me Sid.  I never got on with that nickname as I was more into Johnny Rotten but it was difficult to tell kids that as they were kicking and punching me for their random pleasure.  The thing with these two photos is you can still see the light in my eyes, just starting to dull in the later one.  These years were the start of what later would be diagnosed as mild depression.  The transition from middle to high school was particularly traumatic as I had a whole new bunch of older kids to pick on me though I soon found some allies.


Before we know it we’re up the motorway again, back to other old haunts in Southampton.  We’re staying with Amy’s cousin Ting, who has been in England so long she has the thickest English accent I’ve heard for a while – so much so that I barely recognise her on the phone sometimes.

Amy heads off with Ting to do some shopping as they are cooking together at a friend’s house that evening, whilst I head over to see my old pal, Chrissy.

Chrissy was the wife of Steve, whom, if you’ve been following so far, was the inspiration for writing the 1994 diary after his untimely death the previous year.  I caught up with her briefly in Sydney a few years before as she was attending someone’s wedding there, just a suburb or two away from where I was living at the time.  It was good to catch up again and talk shit like we did in the ‘good old’ days.

The afternoon is made more pleasant by the arrival of Steve and Chrissy’s daughter Rebecca, who was less than a year old the last time I saw her.  I am shocked at the resemblance to Steve and can’t stop looking at her face.  It’s like he’s right there again.

I also make quick friends with their dog who despite being somewhat shy took to me for some good pats, strokes and ear rubbing.  But soon enough it’s time to leave.

I head back to drop the car at Ting’s and get out the maps app so as to walk to the pub where I will meet more old timers and down a couple of pints.  The air is very cold but the exercise warms me and I look into people’s houses as I pass and wonder what their lives are holding for them today.

I stop off for some hot chips as I’ve not eaten much today and it would be preferable to line my stomach with something traditionally British and stodgy to soak up any alcohol intake.

There are some bands playing tonight, including some old friends but I’m not so interested in the music as I am in talking.  Rich introduces me to his partner Geraldine and later Rob and his partner Emily turn up.  A couple of other hopeful attendees find themselves busy elsewhere so they’ll just have to come and visit me in Thailand one day.

A jovial atmosphere and pleasant conversations quickly end this all to brief meet up but it’s much along the lines of that last night in Sydney, with certain friends you can just pick up on conversations with even years of interruption between.

The following morning we’re off to London.  Amy wants to go shopping.  I’m not particularly thrilled at that idea but I’ve set myself a task to track down a book I’m looking for.  We’re also booked for a dinner in the evening at the Shard near London Bridge.

I’ve always enjoyed London as a place to visit but never, when living in England, felt the urge to live there.  So, even rush hour tube trips have some sense of adventure to them.  I’m constantly reminded of the Clash as we pass by certain stations and wonder at the motivations they had as they went from small house suburban London city to mega hotel New York city.  Man, they wrote some tunes.

One thing I immediately notice is how much more multicultural London is than Sydney.  Although not so used to hearing the English accent anymore it seems that in many places we visit and pass by that people aren’t speaking English at all.  It’s a little unsettling and really cool at the same time.

This point is highlighted even more as we head for a pub lunch and I’m annoyed at myself for not understanding the bartender’s accent.  I forget to apologise for my difficulty as her’s is a Lubjiana accent, so I ask her more about her country.  She’s busy though but I think she wasn’t offended at my ignorance in the end.

We pop into Waterstone’s bookshop and finally I find the book I’m looking for, ‘Churchill’s Secret War’ and take this final chance to pick a couple of books about The Fall.  I wasn’t going to buy these originally as I figured I could find them digitally but they were there, I was shopping, this was possibly the last day I’ll ever be in England and so they ended up in my luggage.  Amy felt the same and bought a couple of massive cooking books which definitely means a rejig of our bags later tonight.

We’re starting to flag now and consider changing our plans for dinner tonight.  It’s another beautiful sunny cold day, particularly bitter when the wind rushes through small side streets.  We decide to head to the Shard early and see if we can just go up and take some pictures.  We end up on the 34th floor at the small bar there and decide to splash out on a bottle of champagne and 6 oysters.  These kinds of expenses usually bother me but I decided to relax again and enjoy this indulgence despite the fact the cost could probably build us a swimming pool in Thailand.


We reflect on our lives as we stare out across this old city and talk about how people think we are lucky to be able to do this and that.  But we have worked hard, had a plan and always pointed our way towards it.  I guess those comments are somewhat driven by the social media construct where friends generally only see you having fun, what appears to be, all the time.  We know we have made the right choices along the way, the choices that have got us where we are now.

The following morning we are greeted with snow.  What a nice surprise.  The Mexicans we meet at the breakfast table in our guest house are equally thrilled and we watch them as they step out to take funny photos.  We do the same a little later as we stuff our suddenly heavier re-jigged bags into the car and head to the drop off point.  Unfortunately, our phone direction finder leads round in frustrating circles and we decided just to figure it out following the signposts instead.

Amy decides on one last shop at the airport, so I get in the mood and pick up another book about the rules of being English, something I mentioned to Amy when she smiled happily to the guy in the take away the previous night. I told her it was not usual for someone to smile at other people in England and the guy probably thought she fancied him.  This is overplaying it a bit and is also the exact thing that attracted me to Amy in the first place.  That was in Sydney though, where smiling is an everyday occurrence.  I’m sure the English can often go a whole week without a smile.

The English confound me more on the plane to Bangkok.  It’s another A380 but this time jammed with ‘bigger’ English people looking for thrills in the ‘land of smiles’.  Despite leaving at midday, it’s an overnight flight as we fight against earth’s rotation and the English are up and at the crew galley all night long refilling on free booze.  I did this once when the experience of flying was still new to me.  Free booze must not be missed but I found it impossible to get drunk and to drink enough to be able to sleep.  I would just end up with a frustrating headache at the end of the flight, so I never drink on planes now.

And then occurs the most English thing I can imagine.  There are two meatheads sitting directly in front of Amy and I and they were constantly bouncing in their chairs at every toss, turn and minor readjustment.  I glance the Sun in the lap of the one who is coughing consistently and roll my eyes.  Midway through the flight, Amy needs to get out to go to the toilet so I get up and step into the aisle.  Being half awake I was a little clumsy getting up and knocked the chair in front of me where the now angry boofhead looks around and proclaims, ‘Was that on purpose?  I think it was, wasn’t it?’

I’m perplexed.  My only reply is ‘Sorry?’ and I look behind me to consider if he’s actually talking to someone else because his words just don’t make any sense to me.  Amy is bewildered too but trots off to the toilet as I stand and wait.  The two meatheads decide that they’ll settle themselves down with more whiskey and the event passes.  I still can’t imagine what leads to the guy’s question, if I knocked his chair on purpose, what was the reason?  We’d had no previous interaction at all.  It just seemed a typically antagonistic English response, a show of never back down, one-upmanship.

Those two guys ended up rushing off the plane to get to their destination of my more booze, sun and you can guess what else.


Our day has only taken 12 hours and we transfer at Bangkok for our flight home, finally my last flight for this period.  There has been so much travel and rush over this month that it has been almost impossible to sit and relax and reflect.  Probably for the best.  Even mum’s funeral seems like something surreal and dreamlike that perhaps didn’t even happen.

This final flight is curiously filled with French and various Middle Easterners and I watch on as people struggle to find their seats.  It’s a little strange really – it’s not that hard, is it?  The numbers ascend and the letters go across.  It seems to take an age for some people though.  I wonder if their brains are wired differently, something that will soon be confirmed as I adjust to life in Thailand.

Back in Chiang Rai, we rush to sleep, eat, advise our builders, eat and sleep again.  Another day disappeared into the mosquito-ridden night.

SCUL HAZZARDs – Landlord – 1st February 2010

Cat #: 034TZM

Around 2 years ago SCUL HAZZARDs made the big leap from Brisbane to London, playing over 100 shows, releasing 2 vinyl full length albums, working dead end jobs and generally impressing everyone that came across them. Now, finally, they’re back, straight into a tour in February ending up located in Melbourne. To coincide with the tour tenzenmen will release SCUL HAZZARDs second LP ‘Landlord’ for the first time on CD. For those fans seeking the first LP ‘Let Them Sink’, these tracks will also become available via the iTunes Store. 

First quote on their return came from drummer Leigh Fischer simply stating ‘It’s fucking hot here’. Elaborating further the band have decided to return home simply to earn more money to take themselves back out on the road and return for more overseas jaunts and reminding Australian fans that they are still alive and kicking as much as ever. With two albums worth of mostly unheard (on these shores) material to draw from, their shows are sure to be incendiary and the ‘Landlord’ CD captures their dynamic noise rock sound perfectly. Think Jesus Lizard heaviness mixed with Shellac lightness all with an Aussie twist thrown in. They play hard – so listen loud. 

“SCUL HAZZARDs have done nothing but show that they have the visceral edge to keep it fresh and inspiring in the present day…. for anyone that enjoys their rock with a bit of complexity and razor sharp squall…” states one reviewer of ‘Landlord’ but don’t just take their word for it, come and see it for real! Steven, Leigh and Tiffany are ready to rock your socks off. Tiffany commands the stage with real rock ‘n’ roll swagger literally trying to kill you with her presence and bass depth, whilst Steven, more demure in comparison, screams his vitriol and jags his guitar off to the side. Pay close attention to drummer Leigh and you’ll hear this is no ordinary dutiful rhythm section – it’s as if the bassist and drummer have switched instruments but are still playing them the same way. 

All you fellas better change your ways, yeah, leaving this town in a matter of days – 8th August 1994

After feeling a bit rough in the stomach department and then stuffing a huge pizza on Thursday, there was nothing for it ‘cept to take Friday off! So I spent a lazy day ambling about in Poole, Just a walk away across the park from where we live now. The park is full of mad ducks and geese and swans all crowing about looking for food off the tourists. And when Broni returned from her work (she’s now winding down too, thankfully!) we set off on the buses for Bournemouth back to good Chinese food and then a dash down to the beach at 10pm, through all the crowds, to catch a firework display. We got to the beach as the last rocket exploded! Luckily we’d been able to see all the aerial light show high in the sky. We were pretty drunk by this time and I guess we got home on the bus somehow!

Saturday was spent lazily too and in the evening we went up to Consumers Paradise to see ‘The Flintstones’. I enjoyed it greatly thanks to a few puffs of magic smoke. We attempted a walk in the park on our return but we got too paranoid with all the dimly lit paths and alleys and ominous shadows of trees. We had to crash out early to get up at half five to catch the early bird bus up to London. And so we trekked back across the park in the early dawn, both still sleepy-eyed.

On the bus, we spread out, my back with an aching hurt making me sit bolt upright and I read William Burroughs and Broni read Roddy Doyle. In the blink of an eye we’re off the bus to a quiet sunny Sunday in central London. First stop for refreshments at the Fountain Cafe, and then into the tube across town to Islington to Piers at Mildmay Grove (now made famous (of sorts) in a poem, to Piers’ amusement).

Soon after arrival, Piers’ Orstraylian friend, Andrew, turned up with enthusiasm for our ‘freeways’, “strewth, knocking on the ton most of the way, just to keep up with people!” He assured us I’d have a great time in Sydney, “Bedder then heya, thet’s fer shore!” Soon he dropped us off near Euston after a 100mph car ride through London’s busy streets. “Oi luv those corners, especially with the four-wheel droive.” and some off the cuff remark while we were talking about money he noted about a fellow car driver “that blek fella’s dun awright fer ‘imself droiving a rolla, must be a drag ranner!” No sign of irony, sarcasm, hatred or even ignorance. Beyond ignorance!

Piers took us to Chutnie for Sunday lunch. An Indian restaurant with a three pounds ninety-five, all you can eat menu. OK food, but no popadoms! Piers then took us to various parts of London, all on foot, which was good but after a while, in the wrong places, we got fed up with the people everywhere.

Piers left us to it as he had to dash off to some BBQ and soon after Broni and I lost our rag, poisoned by the city I’m sure. After making up we started to realise just how tired we were and how fed up with all the tourist traps we were. Things got worse as we searched for food nourishment around tea time. My back pain had transferred to chest pain and as we sat drinking an orange juice and water I got scared and cried at the memory of Steve saying “could be the grim reaper for me” after seeing the doctor about chest pains, just days before his death. Then, frustrated, we found an American diner in Leicester Square with the vague hope of getting well-fed but all we got was fed up with shitty garlic bread and nachos with no guacamole – what the fuck! Totally overpriced too for the tourist boom – it was here we started to hate London and it’s consumer nightmare. Buy or die. Charging over a pound for a coffee is just pure rip-off and taking advantage of people – I can’t believe people are sucked in so easily but you are constantly bombarded by it.

We tubed over to Victoria to prepare to leave and things got decidedly evil. I paid 20p for a piss and approached the urinal thinking to myself, stand at the opposite end to the drain hole so you don’t have to smell everyone else’s piss. I’d done the wrong thing as I was thinking that, of course, but made a mental note to do that next time. As all that was going on in my head I became aware of some dude stood two booths away. Looking down I saw no signs of piss flowing down the drain and realised this guy was jerking himself off as he looked over at me. I quickly finished up and fled feeling a bit flustered. Not sickened but saddened by this behaviour. I felt strange for several minutes and as I walked up the stairs at Victoria I saw the shadow of Satan’s angel cast on the ground. I turned and looked up but, nothing! A very real experience probably easily explained but in my emotional state, very believable. And suddenly the city seemed insidious, dirty, depraved and evil and as we begged to leave, our coach was delayed. Only memorable point was while we were waiting, catching a girl’s eye by chance and her smiling at me!

Bussed home eventually, me looking after Broni as her health deteriorated by the poison of the day until she puked as we walked back across the park, now shrouded in darkness, ‘cept sky lit up by wandering searchlights touching the low-level cloud with fingers of fire.

Back at work today, still sad inside with thoughts of the dead city and Broni coming home ill after half a day’s work. I went to the doctors about my wrist again, where I was palmed off with the same old rest and recuperate rubbish. I think there’s more to it and have booked to see another doctor tomorrow. This has been very painful to write I’ll remind you – sympathy, please!

I’m getting excited about leaving now and frightened too but not so much as I’d expected. It seems like I’m just moving house – difficult to explain. Hey – had a great long cool chat with Rob on Saturday night – one cool dude is our Rob. Remember, Rob is God.

Somedays this and somedays that – 2nd June 1994

Soon awake around 9 but such a wonderful sleep. Breakfast ate and monies paid for board, we trekked back across London to Kew Gardens – once again bright sunny day.

We spent about four hours in gasping amazement at the wonders of nature that are held here. Flowering Rhododendrons, tall bushy trees, ducks and squirrels, palms and bamboo. Despite our weary legs we saw as much as we could, sunshine charging our batteries. So much beauty contained here in the middle of the big stink. Do the London people come here to relax at 4 pounds per time, I wonder?

I still think London is a beautiful place and I’m looking forward to living in Sydney with a bit of hustle and bustle, at least for awhile.

Our drive home was torturous, legs aching so, and desperate to sit down and do nothing! We dropped off Robbie in Southampton and arrived home an hour later, only to make arrangements to go and cook up some dinner at Kerry’s. Ah! Sweet food, shovelled in and nothing else to do but watch TV and read magazines, and I fell asleep as the girls watched Beauty and the Beast.

Pick me up and turn me round
Into the disarray around me

And for next two nights till now we’re still catching up on our beauty rest, my Broni being the cutest thing on earth when waking each new morning. Soon I’ll be able to stay in bed there with her and talk and play and not get up till teatime!

Every day would get thrilliner and thrilliner – 5th May 1994

sidenote: Remember this mad bad blues band?

It’s all a blur of frenzied activity but here’s the gist. Stocktake over and it’s a glorious sunny day. I get drunk and talk to lady next door while Broni is off talking jumpers and work with Rosemary (getting good possible offers of work). I’m asleep drunk, tired and sun-scorched. Broni returns and we, with John, opt for Indian fool and blues music but we flake it early on and it’s back to dreamtime.

Next glorious sunny day and it’s down to Bournemouth and the record fair to see our friends Barry and Gary, being their usual fun selves. Happy and laughing we came out richer in pocket and in heart. Checked out the beach half searching for cynical Rich in his sandwich board. Back home to our sunny backyard before mad motorway dash once again to watch grown men run around with a football for 90 minutes. This being Steve’s memorial football match. Me, I’m grumpy but enjoyed talking to Chrissy and Karl Barry. Soon home again via mothers and back into bed.

Early morning rise and straight to the beach for early morning coffee (I actually pack for parcels of records before we leave – up very early today). In search of decent food, we spend a fortune at Safeways and proceed to drink away the day in the backyard, with brief excursions into football and kite flying with John and Sarah and Morbaina (this cool Zimbabwean dude). On into the night and we barbecue with our new roommate Simon and we drink and drink. Phew!

Up at five next morning to get Broni on the bus to London and then into work – I’m really pissed off and run off a series of poems before I start to feel very ill and decide to come home. I talked to Broni and tell her I miss her (very much). Hightail highway again, this time to go see Rollins Band in Portsmouth with all the crew. Tony buying beer and Selena not drinking?! Dig play and impress, Rollin’s music doesn’t impress but his presence is awesome. Not totally overawed though!

On return to Eastleigh, me and Rob fight sleep and talk about life and its people till three or so. Rich and Rob go off to work and I read magazines and play records to my aching heart’s content.

Broni rings and seems happy and I hope to see her later in London. I go off to Chrissy’s and try to keep Amanda busy – she is in a particular spoiled brat mood – dear girl. Rebecca is a beauty though! Ah! Chrissy feeds me and I must dash off to collect Rob for another roadbuster to mighty city to see old pals Victims Family. I talked my goddamn head off in the fat London traffic while Rob directs. Soon there inside gig we sell poetry to eager punters and watch Victims Family plough through their last set of their tour. I talked to Ralph for a while, he says they hope to get to Australia someday. I also meet that old dude Rob from Corby and chat before we exit during Grotus’ set.

On the streets, everyone’s celebrating Arsenal’s European victory and I ring Broni at Piers’ and organise a quick visit. Down the road, we enter this huge house and into Piers’ cool yuppie type flat, adorned with great obscure works of art. Broni is a bit self-conscious but that’s okay – soon on again then and coffeed up we drive any old ways out of town. Twice awake and half asleep. A great conversation on the way home reminds me of talking to Steve again! I dash straight to Poole after dropping Rob and back to beautiful bed! Soon awoken by beautiful Broni’s early morning call and knowledge that she returns tonight.

Boredomer in Boretribe – 13th-17th February 1994

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