No looking back – 27th September 1994

Back in the air, 30,000ft, 500mph plus! Saying goodbye to my friends and my crying mother sure wasn’t easy. Last time she cried was when her dad died. It was heart wrenching to leave her there, but now I’m here. It’s mad. I’m gonna take a piss over Turkey, just for good measure!

Me and Broni dripped a couple of tears as we took off and flew out over old England. Yesterday, someone (do I know who?!) wondered if I’d get all patriotic when in Oz and I scoffed some but I guess it has been home and has fuelled several fires in my soul. Now is only forward though – no looking back!


Sunsets over Turkey, just a few hours after it rose for us, leaving pink dust on the horizons as barren mountains below slowly dissolve into darkness. We rumble along leaving a trail of cold wet air turned cloud (-47C) and tiny points of light scattered here and there our only signs of life on earth. The run up to today has been pretty surreal, time biding, nail biting, hmm! I’m pretty lost for words right now would you believe!

Oh but I’ll tell you, on our drive to Newport, sun goes down west side, moon comes up east side, moon can see sun across other side of earth and gives us a delicious pink moon, strawberry blancmange, hangs low in sky, touches our hearts, mine, Rob and Broni. Humm!

Today, this morning, I ring up Chrissie – one last goodbye – wake her up and she tells me she dreaming of Steve (good dreams), first time in ages and I wonder if he’s not there somewhere watching over us all – seeing to it those he loved have happy lives. Pink moon.


Plane engulfed in pitch, we watch thunderstorms in the distance, quickly zoom past us and while excitedly watching the skies for more flashes of sheet lightning we witness space debris meteorite burn up in the semisphere (you know I don’t know what it’s called!), quick burst of burning energy, released right before our eyes, up here, in the arms of god!


In the arms of god alright – we’re higher than the moon, helf moon hanging crescent low, a dim light just a few inches above our wing. Below, isolated lights pin prick the blackness and at times congregate in great cities with circles of red and yellow – kaleidoscope still life – now though, nothing – like falling forever into black holes of hell (as refreshments are being served).


Now we’re gonna fly into the sun, a creamy white pervades the horizon, turning blue and deep deep orange and reds torchlight silhouette clouds – breathtaking, nature’s wonder. (Like Milton’s Paradise Lost). Sit here and take it into my mind’s eye, snapshot, hit up the old memory sometime.


A bried hiatus in Bangkok – what terrific views as we came into land and tool off, of millions of paddy fields, water ways, Buddhist temples and gold courses. And now we’re back on our way, last leg over Chinese seas and Australia, into waiting arms of potential relatives and friends. And me, I want some sleep but nervous energy adrenalin could keep me going for ages. Imagine landing in Australia, early evening, driving to our flat (all sorted) falling asleep and waking up again in the morning, like, where the fuck am I!??


Brief hallucinatory sleep – then hallucinatory wake – look our window and it’s all calm, deep blude sea and I start seeing spots in front of my eyes. After a patient wait, first strikes of red sunbaked land poke into the ocean – salt marsh top of Australia, below – beach reflects a huge natural fractal image so breathtaking in beauty I want to stop the plane and go tell all my friends, right now. Onward into great sandy desert and parched earth below and above a thick layer of thundercloud that we hang ten feet of so under – I feel like we are touching the ceiling of the world – wild grey artex. Few signs of life on ground. A road here or there, long straight and little used, stretching off into the hazy distance. Three hours til touchdown, other side of this island.


Cotton wool clouds cast big black shadows contrasting the scorched dry earth. I watched a cloud disappear, evaporate under the blistering heat. So barren and desolate and inhospitable but so beautiful for our vantage point.

Shot Away – 12th September 1994

The filament in the light bulb above my head is broken
I cannot repair it until the everyday DIY man has spoken
And when he speaks he speaks with a lisp
Everyone is laughing – they all think he’s pissed

I don’t care what they say
Mr Repairman came to see me today
I did not laugh, he did the trick
He made everything absolutely spick
And spanner in the works – wash my dirty shirts – until it really hurts
The swallows flew the nests – they were eggs no more
I mark my card as they fly by
Kiss my friend in the eye
They were eggs no more he fried

28th Jul 2024 – Fresh Forest Cottage, some 7 or 8 years after Mum and I left and a long time before I saw again. The open window is where my bedroom was, where the howling noises all came from and a thousand cigarettes smoked and a thousand cans of beer drunk.

28th Jul 2024 – This is how I remember the garden once walking through the gate. Gillespie’s (the garage) just visible on the right where more howling and drumming was often heard. I do recall that this part of the garden had changed a lot when I saw it again some ten or fifteen years later. No surprise really. It stopped me from wanting to go in a look around though as I hoped to keep my memories intact.


Screaming along the runway, engines roar, hearts in mouths as we, cloud bound go. Panic abates, ears pop, whiteness overwhelms us, then free, like a rock slung to the heavens, bright sun gleaming cross the snow ground, bubbling like a witches brew or soft as a crash mat below.
Til dreams hit of freefalling, waiting for that soft spring catch.
But heart surrendered body as the white night envelopes til, yikes! Hard ground racing upwards, a glimpse of heaven, a walk with angels traverse the europes by the air,
30,000 feet above mad farmers, raging rivers,
ants in our eyesight, twisting snakes
like a rising Atlantis, brave mountains
puncture low cloud fall, Alpine wonder
but just a brief gasp of breath,
a mere molehill on horizons,
as we many mile per hour go
from one place to another.
In a few brief hours, sun warming our toes, we find destination, a Mediterranean island in green seas, lapping white crest tops biting at its edges.
We being to fly low, deceleration pops our eardrums
as we marvel at this rare beauty
to our right as we slide by.
Then with a touch of the wheel
we turn about so slow.
I fear we may stall in this awful manoeuvre,
but a beat on the throttle takes us in nice and easy.
We seem to be gliding ’til wheels tiptoe the tarmac
and suddenly we’re racing to slow before the grass starts and thankfully we do and our captain goes ‘phew’ in private
but tells us to have a nice day.
So off then to adventure
and off with our raincoats
where dark young men impress my sweet
darling with their dark young minds.