The alarm goes off every three minutes, this morning we listen to it for an hour. Broni eventually getting out after a quick roll around and as she spreads the curtains open I simultaneously hide my head under the pillow to block out the light and go back in search of the Sandman. I play in my dreams for a half-hour or so til I stir to the smell of coffee, I sit up in bed and watch Broni get dressed. Soon she’s whirlwinded off for her last day before a week off and I sip my coffee and read another chapter of Burroughs. I don’t have half a clue as to what’s going on in the book but it’s strangely addictive. Each paragraph or sentence provides vivid imagery for the mind to play with and the story kind of develops in a series of snapshots. Unusual.
I’m disappointed this morning that the sun isn’t shining and as I write, now afternoon, it’s only just starting to peek through the clouds. With plenty to do, I ride on up to the post office, over the small park that is surrounded by busy roads, to be honest, this park offers no peace from the bustle and taking a picnic there would be ludicrous.
Next, down to the bank to deposit more money and I dodge in and out of the traffic, jumping on and off the pavement to avoid parked cars, needless to say, I make it down into town as quick as any of the cars.
The slight drizzle obscures my sight through my glasses but it’s neither cold nor really that wet. Back across Poole Park, now empty of tourists, the place looks tragic, reliant on sunshine for business, England’s tragedy (or maybe saving grace).
Back home Broni rings to tell me that our tickets are ready for collection at the travel agent. Back in town. Without complaint I, this time, just walk back through the park. A few more people now as the rain moves on, but no one out on the boats yet. I imagine rolling out into the middle of water and just floating, free. Read a book, read it aloud so the sky can hear.
On Sunday when Broni, Rob and myself came through the park we saw in the distance some kites in the sky, except one didn’t have the normal kite shape and from where we were stood it looked to me like someone had ripped a hole in the sky and the more I looked at it the more real it seemed. I was expecting time travellers to fall through the rip and bring us news of the future, but shit, it probably wouldn’t be great news would it? Or maybe they would tell us of a new life, a separate existence where things are good in people did coexist happily. I guess that theory is just a bit harder to imagine. See how poisoned our minds are by today’s bullshit. I can see it and I hope everyone else can but I think I probably credit people with too much intelligence. Still, the people I have time for are those that can see it (should I make time for the others?).
So I picked up the tickets and read a few magazines and pondered whether it was worth buying a huge box of chocolates, opting not to in the end when realising what other things you can buy for the same price. Our groceries for a week cost less than the box, but hell they also cost less than a bottle of good wine!
Back across the park, now warmer and brighter and therefore busier. I rode over the other side of the lake yesterday looking for good shots with the video and beautiful though the park is, from that angle the park is dwarfed by the high-rise blocks of the hospital and the nursing home and a million other buildings towering over the trees. Of course, on that side where most of the people gather you’re looking the other way, over the railway line and out into the harbour. And today as I walk over I suck back and choke on leaded octane sputtering out from some tourists car. Can’t someone come up with a better way to travel? And then try to sell it to the English public, hah! And back home the trains still roll by.
Hope is such a desperate emotion to cling to. But I wonder if there is any hope for the future. Not for my future, I have clear ideas about my future. For the future of the world? How long before God puts an end to the insanity rife in mankind? Armageddon is promised by most religions – can you say you will survive the cleansing?
Are you good at heart? Do you believe in yourself? Why do I ask?
Two men kidnap a 15-year-old female German student, drive her at knifepoint to an industrial estate where they both rape her, knife to the throat. You know the story, we’ve all heard it. It makes me hate. It makes me hate being a man, male, macho. I want to reject my sex. I want to cut the dicks of every one of those scumfuck rapists and molesters, tear out their burning eyes and wrench out their perverted thoughts, suck out their chemical imbalance, and I don’t want to see them in jail – I want them dead.
I want women to rule the world, no woman thinks with a dick. It seems like no hope for the future, will the rapists, the robbers, the killers, the connivers rule the world? I think they already do, the rule of fear, born in the 20th century. Armageddon seems appropriate.
What strength we need now, to show our children a better way. We all think we know best and sometimes you should listen to that advice your enemy might be giving you. They may have a point. What strength then to shoulder criticism. What insight to point our way towards the light. We can do it. We know we can, we’ve been programmed to forget how. Mickey Mouse told you to forget, Coca-Cola too. Now is the time to remember.
The Hope Conspiracy
If hope was a bottled tonic It would be made illegal “Got any hope, mate?” Someone would be making a tidy sum Selling it on street corners To consumers ready to buy In need of that fix to get high And soon people would be stealing Off each other, smashing piggy banks For every last cent Just to get some hope Killing each other in the queue Lining up for another fix of hope Hope – sinister Hope – deadly Hope – death
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.
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!
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.
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).
That day sure was young and nothing would have prepared us for the events of the evening. Here goes. As Broni and I sat eating our tea in the garden in the beautiful evening sun, Julie (evil soul) turned up and proudly announced she been to a solicitor and had got the letter stopping John and I from ‘harassing’ her and not allowing us to kick her out within two days. She said she’d go as soon as possible and well, I didn’t really care so long as she was on her way.
Then, pow! She said she’d spoken to Tony, our agent, and he said the owners wanted to put the house on the market so the tenancy wasn’t going to be renewed. This meant we had until the first of August to get out. Well I wasn’t impressed, just another of her lies (though I didn’t think she’d go that far – which was worrying, maybe there was some truth in it!?). Well, we just walked away and the phone rang and it was Tony, who was confirming that this was true. Wow! What a fucking bombshell!
He said the owners had heard about all the trouble and decided not to renew the tenancy. He was saying it was all down to Julie, according to him, and, of course, she was happy as hell. I was fucking furious that we should have to carry the can for her actions but Broni managed to calm me down and at the end of the day we figured it may work out quite well for us. We get everything packed and ready to send to Oz, move to Kerry’s while she’s away in Japan (for all of August) and basically have a good time for the last eight weeks here. A catalystic turnaround. Sure, our wonderful home won’t be there for our comfort but we’d have to leave sometime anyway.
Michelle was a bit upset too and had a few other ideas that maybe we weren’t getting the whole truth out of Tony and our minds were working overtime. John didn’t get back till about 11 and we shellshocked him with the news. We thought about our rights and all that stuff but me and Broni decided we’d go anyway – we had nothing to gain from contest ing the decision.
Friday, I was kind of shellshocked about the huge turnaround and thankfully Julie was out most of the day. She did come back in the evening though and so did the police! To see her! I tried to find out from the cop what it was about but he wouldn’t tell me, I did overhear her saying, “I’ve got the receipt” and him saying “Make a statement at the station as soon as you can.” Not till I mentioned this to Broni and she said it maybe about the video Tony took from her (which she had offered up to him against rent payment). Fucking hell – it all happens doesn’t it?
While all this was going on, Rob came down in the afternoon and we had a great time going through our poetry. By the time Broni was back home, we decided we needed Indian food and beer! An excellent meal in the evening provided us with pleasant relief from our mini stress out! Picking up a couple of bottles of wine, we got drunk watching our home movies and John Otway and passed out soon after.
In the morning we headed out, the three of us, across the lovely English countryside fields, red with poppies or blue with other flora, up to Salisbury to check on our wedding rings! I wanted a bit more done to mine but Broni was happy with hers – it being different to how we imagined, now a two piece affair – like an engagement ring that fits perfectly into the wedding band and when put together looks just like one ring.
We took Rob around the town which was very enjoyable in the hot noonday sun. I must tell you this boyish joke occurrence that happened to us totally by accident. We checked out Pizza Hut for some food and were being served by a pretty, friendly girl. I jokingly introduced her to Rob saying “By the way, this is Rob – listen to what he says ‘cos Rob is God”. ‘Rob is God’ was spray-painted by Steve on his amplifier and is a cool insert picture on the Thirst 7″ single). Rob, laterally (and literally) thinking, blurted out “It says so on my 7 inch!” We all burst out laughing and I apologetically tried to explain he’d got a record out! She was cool about it too.
Checked out the cathedral and sweet shop, getting some Jelly Bellies that came in such weird and wonderful colours and flavours such as buttered popcorn, cream soda, watermelon etc. Yum!
You want gossip! Here’s what’s on my mind right now. Write it down, clear it out, forget about it – here’s the rub.
Spoke to Rich from Eastleigh a couple of days ago and had a cool chat, Rich being more forward than usual and telling me what he’d been up to. Anyways he mentioned Fatty had been in touch to try and speak to Rob. Rob not being there, Rich had a quick chat with Fatty saying he should get in touch with me, or that maybe I should get in touch with him. According to Rich, Fatty didn’t say anything to that and when Rich mentioned about going up to some of the gigs in Southampton, Fatty replied ‘maybe after September’. Rich was rather taken aback by this apparently and we can only assume that he’s waiting for me to leave this country before taking up again with our mutual friends.
When Rich told me this I just said ‘Oh well, no good to harbour hatred’ and shrugged it off, but afterwards it really got me down. It’s not nice knowing someone out there hates you to the extent of wanting to see you go away completely. It’s upsetting and I’m not afraid to admit it. I’m very sensitive to these things (as you may have worked out by now anyway). It also makes me angry because I have not done anything wrong and my hater (Fatty) can’t even come and talk to me about it.
Okay, I’m saddened because this person can’t deal with their problem, can’t handle their emotions and can’t be honest with me about it. Remember, last time I spoke to Fatty, we left on amicable terms and he’d be in touch (also remember I don’t know his new address or phone number – Yes, I could get both if I really wanted to!) And now the turnaround – his problem is not my problem.
If I met him now I would talk to him like nothing has happened (in fact nothing has happened has it!?) and it really is a shame for him that he hasn’t been to see me in the last six months and a shame he probably won’t see me again after September. For me, however, it is not a shame. I feel like I’ve cut out a poisonous sore, an infection. Close the door on a chapter of my past, one which turned sour, especially at a critical time for me emotionally, with Steve passing away.
I am stronger. My character will carry me through this and I can only hope one day Fatty can see how foolish and stubborn he has been. Good luck old friend, remember, happiness is only just around the corner. So there it is. Now I can forget about it. Will write you some more later.
I feel great, let’s celebrate It’s a sunny day, let’s dance and play Never fear, love is here – Wrong by Nomeansno
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 a while.
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
– Cardiacs
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!
Here you are again dear reader. I’m currently sat here in the van waiting for my physio appointment. Some old man politely hassling me about how long I’m going to be parked here cos he wants to put his car here.
Had a weird dream last night that involved a known paedophile and bestial man who I saw running naked down a street chasing a pig. I was with a bunch of youngsters (11 to 12-year-olds) and to show them that this man was wrong I beat him the ground and pissed all over him! Knowing he’d be mad at me I ran to the next town and went to where I lived (?) with Martin B(!) on a houseboat(!!!). The man had got there already and had stolen Martin’s dog! Jeez, what does all that mean I wonder?
Me and my baby are often in dispute these days and I wonder what it is that’s changed. We are both of strong character but very forgiving so most arguments are laid to rest quickly but what is it that creates them? Is it being together every night? Is it how I am busy in the evenings and Broni just wants to relax? I can’t help busying myself, it’s the only time I get to do things that I like (ie reading, writing etc). I know these things are mostly to do on my own and in some ways that’s not fair but I do also take time and trouble to make Bronwyn happy. It is difficult living with someone even if you are as madly in love with each other as we are.
I wonder if things were any easier a hundred years ago when the men ruled the roost? I honestly don’t think I could do that in this day and age, though it seems plenty of people still do. I’m increasingly appalled by man’s treatment of women. Why is there a page three girl? Why so many (any) pornographic magazines? Women blatantly used to sell everything. Where in the world can I go to get away from it? Where do people live in some sort of harmony? With respect?
Sometimes I feel myself falling into these traps because they are ever present, bombarded at you from every media angle. What future for our children? So many decisions are made by few people who believe they know what’s best for the majority.
Anyway, I’ve been thinking about Rich and how it’d be nice if he loosened up a bit! He and Rob have their fair share of arguments I understand, and they live together. Rich tells me some of the tales but I must confess to not being very sympathetic. He’s on holiday in Europe right now so maybe that’ll relax him up a bit.
Mostly the other things on my mind involve Australia. Everyone’s wishing me luck for when I go. (Hey, I caught up with Little Crabby in Safeways and heard the latest gossip! His parents got divorced! Wow! Murray’s still the same and Jasper’s a pothead! Double wow! I remember he wouldn’t touch that stuff when I had it!). I can’t wait to get to Australia – I think it’s going to be a great adventure and a turning point in my life.
I heard someone talking about their destiny the other day and whether they put their success down to luck but he said it was just about making choices and he was positive in his thinking and therefore made the right choices. This is the way I will be and I know I’m making the right choice in going to Australia. I know that this country has little to offer me unless I want to work my ass off for the next 50 years (dying in the next 10 from stomach ulcers).
I’m in search of that harmonious world, not expecting to find but just happy searching.
I want to mention that Kerry has given up drinking and has slimmed down considerably over the last four weeks. I mention this on looking back at previous entries when she was drunk! Just wanted to put that straight.
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
1994ever 