Wednesday, 19 February 2020


In a room which I sure belongs to my friend Dee Bee. Seems to be a hotel. There's myself, Dee Bee and few other guys there. We're just sort of chatting when the atmosphere suddenly becomes very serious. There's a curtain pulled over the (near square) main window and as it hangs you can see to the outside about 5 inches to the right and two inches to the bottom of it. What happens next, and the cause for our alarm, is all framed in this 'L' shape. A bunch of Latino(?) guys are emerging from the sea. They all have toned bodies and are wearing long bermuda shorts. As they near the shore they begin to slowly pelt the room/window with smallish stones. The window has no glass as I can recall stones showering into the room – they really pick up the pace and we are all panicking and ducking for cover-

Next I know I'm standing on a timber decking built over the sand and looking onto the beach (situated below the overhang of the hotel building, maybe 2-3 storeys below Dee Bee's room). I watch anxiously as the guys from the ocean leave the water and continue their slow, zombie-like advancement off to my left-

I'm up at the very top of the hotel now, talking to my mother's older cousin, Emm Arr. I am concerned for her safety in light of this frightening invasion from the sea. We discuss something about her room and she says she doesn't give a shit, laughing that everything is in Monty(?)'s name-

Tuesday, 11 February 2020


Aboard a steam engine. I am in the cab and the driver is my father's friend Jay EmmCeeEmm. The engine has a huge, bright red, thickly ribbed plastic(?) 'coat' along the (considerable) length that covers the entire top and sides, of the boiler. I am sure the engine belongs to my father. I ask Jay if he has seen or driven the engine before. He has, reminding me of a time...? I vaguely do recall this and accept his reasoning. We start to steam, not on a track but on a road, driving a little too fast (for my liking). Country road with fields and grass verges (sometimes fenced) to either side. My view is straight ahead, not as if from the cab but right at the front, so nothing in front is obscured. The road seems a little tight as we speed past the occasional car coming in the opposite direction-

Soon the surrounding landscape has become (to my concern) more like winter, with sprinklings of snow and visible tyre tracks on the road surface. We then begin passing women on horseback, often speeding by them uncomfortably close, so much so that the panic of the horses is clearly visible. Jay is not bothered when I voice my concern. At one point a woman rider on a horse with a smaller pony behind is approaching. The pony panics and flits momentarily in front of the engine but we narrowly miss it as it takes to the steep (fenced) verge on our left, thrashing about and and shying away in fear. The very next horse and rider suddenly divert into our path at the last minute and, as I brace for a collision, they leap into the air to jump over us (as if showjumping). I very much doubt they will make this leap, even at the speed we're going, and ask Jay what he thinks. He says they made it and though I am not convinced the image of the retreating road in my mind's eye offers up no clue. On our final pass we whizz by a carriage, drawn by four horses and with a sort of trailer in tow-

My friend Pee Dee and I are going to see the band Cornershop in concert at Glasgow University's Queen Margaret Union. It is the first time I will have seen him in around twenty years (and in the back of my mind I am anxious that our evening goes well). The gig starts at 7:30 and I expect the support band to be on stage around 8:00. I am in a shop planning to buy beer for us. I am sure I have 4 cans of Tennent's Lager at home so am a little puzzled as to why I need more – with time feeling tight I doubt we will have a drink at home before the gig. I make my way to the far left corner of the shop where there are two shelves adjacent to one another, one on the left hand wall and the other on the back wall. I look at the beers selection on the back wall. On a more thorough inspection these are not fancy foreign beers like I thought, but instead small jars full of pickled mushrooms. I turn to the shelf on my left which does have a more eclectic selection of foreign bottles. But the strange bottle I inspect – stubby, half full, with a long thin neck – is in fact open. A similar looking bottle behind that also appears to be open and empty-

Monday, 3 February 2020


At the Glasgow Film Theatre watching the film Boogie Nights (which I have not seen). Some pals seated on my left, 'Sporty' Spice then 'Posh' Spice to my right. I had a shoe 'Posh' had given me in my bag and delighted in showing it to 'Sporty'-

The screen curtain on the right kept drawing and obscuring half the screen, much to everyone's dismay. Two usherettes eventually appeared to calm the audience outbursts. As the curtain drew across the screen for the third time I went ballistic, only to be collared by an usherette. Oddly, her having decided to throw me out, the exit was only accessible by being marched to the front of the cinema and ascending a metal rung ladder that would take me up and in amongst the ceiling lighting above the stage - visually more reminiscent of the theatre at this point - then over and down another metal ladder to where the exit was. About halfway through my negotiation of the overhead lighting – in between stage and spotlights – that I went mental. Another furious outburst. The usherette's response was one of equal venom and I went quiet, going down the other ladder and towards the exit where the other usherette was waiting. Just as I was about to leave I suddenly remembered I must have left my watch and, rather than going back over the screen, I raced back through the audience to get it. This was a scary moment as I blatantly disobeyed the furious usherettes. However, I retrieved my watch – which was more like a stopwatch in shape – and made my exit sharpish-

From this point on things got rather confusion. I was certainly being pursued for my life by white clad figures that I suspect were Imperial Stormtroopers, but the vibe was very Tom Baker-era Doctor Who, another childhood favourite-

Friday, 31 January 2020


I am in the private/staff part of some rundown bar/pub. Or it might just be a sort of dingy 'L' shaped cul-de-sac languishing near the toilets? The walls are a greeny brown, streaked, the paper flaking and peeling. Feels particularly grim and grimy. I am talking to my friend Arr Haitch, who sits sort of perched in front of a window, talking up close. The view is dark beyond him, some small lights still visible within the nighttime reflection. Am I already talking about Agent Johnny and how my visit was? Or am I struggling to remember it? I ask about the vandalism to the backstage area at Bannerman's Bar and if Arr was there or had seen it. He says something about the band and the vandalism, but either I don't completely understand his accent or another noise drowns it out. Is someone standing (my friend Gee Ayy?) round the corner from Arr, mostly hidden from my view by the turn of the wall. I decide to leave when all I can see are these scuffy shoes and a stream of arching piss from that person. Do I take some pills/medication?-

Have I been to visit Agent Johnny? (The notion that I saw him but cannot recall the experience seems to run as a persistent undercurrent throughout.)-

In the same environment? This feels a bit less seedy. There's a poster – advertising some band's '72 tour? - on the large wall ahead of me. Talking to my friend Dee Bee about this poster and going through all the great, rare psychedelic posters Agent Johnny has at home. Say he has a 'Keep On Tripping' poster? Then talking about Grateful Dead's 'Aoxomoxoa' album cover and Johnny's poster of that. What I describe/picture in my head is stylistically the same, but this image has a large fly or something rendered in the middle. I try to show Dee Bee on a phone or something but the image is offset on the screen and you can only see about half of it (and are unable in any way to scroll)-

In Dee Bee's bedroom. I am looking at the assorted comic sort of memorabilia he has collected. It's definitely all quite childish. I am saddened to think he still lives at home. At the head of his bed he has two simple white shelves mounted on white finished tubular steel curved 'L' brackets. On these shelves are 'Frozen'-like dioramas made from cheap, bright plastic – like better quality versions of McDonalds free gifts/toys. There is a poster on the wall next to this for some film. I understand it is quite rare (though the title escapes me). I take it down to turn it around. It's actually made of polythene or something and he seems to have turned the edges in by a few inches – I think to myself he's done that to protect the corners from being stained by the Blu-Tac. Then again, I reason it will just stain a few inches into the poster. On the reverse of this is printed another poster, stating 'From The Makers Of...?'. It's your classic 80's comedy duo effort, one typically downtrodden and one unwittingly elated character side by side-

One of these is played by John Lithgow. Near this on the wall is an A4 print out showing a (recognisable?) plastic figure – he has a wide, slightly misshapen grey head with round, staring eyes – that it says is the dictator Steve Reich. I am puzzled by the (Third) Reich association here, trying to gauge that against the musician. An extra wave of sadness washes over me as I suddenly have the sense that Dee Bee is dead and this is it-

Outside and walking away. Can sense I'm on some wide tarmac street or road. Quite busy and I am walking against the general flow of people. To my left some stairs descend to the frontage of an old cinema. It is all black, boarded up and scabby. Some people are loitering there. I'm then walking across a metal grill of sorts, passing over the top of this underpass entrance/area-

Walking in quieter streets. I'm watching as an old black guy finishes scribbling by a drain at the kerb. He's drawn in green and black chalk a circular logo I cannot quite make out. Next to the drain is a bowl with money in it. Is this the third of these I've seen? An old lady comes up to me and I ask her about this. She explains that the logo represents 'no skateboarding' as youngsters are tripping over and falling at drains. I can see the logic of the rough illustration now, the tumbling skater in a typical struck out circle. For some reason we examine the nearby road surface – not sure, as if expecting it to be dented or in need of repair after a tumble? Has it been repaired? She and I part ways and as I walk off I ask her another question, turning to see that she herself has produced a long skateboard and is taking off down the adjoining (steep) street in a zigzag fashion. My question obviously throws her and she stops, expertly kicking her board up and catching it in her hand. Evidently annoyed and exasperated she still politely answers my query-

In some strange dark environment. I am now agonising over my inability to remember my visit to Agent Johnny's. I am trying to remember the train journey, the visit to the LIDL supermarket beforehand, but turn up nothing. I cannot even remember John himself, nor taking a single sip of swill. My mind is completely blank, memories only surfacing of my earlier time visiting with my friend Arr Haitch. This is greatly distressing me and I can see ahead of me a small rectangular area of reflective surface, mirroring my eyes back at me (like the conclusion of the film Taxi Driver). I am desperately trying to catch my own gaze in this (puzzling) reflection. Eventually our eyes meet. There are then more and more of these small reflections, filling my vision, and I am able to meet some of their eyes at some points but not all-

Tuesday, 21 January 2020


Playing about on musical keyboards. The (wet t-shirted) assistant – Isla St. Claire? - (someone old anyway) comes up and opens a dictionary and points to the word 'c*nt'. She says if I go and say that to the person at the personnel desk they'll tell me everything I need to know about organs(!)-

Wednesday, 15 January 2020


At the artist studio of Jimi Hendrix. He's working in a space very similar to those at my old University building, all exposed concrete structure and cold finishes. He's at the top of the stairs, the front of his unit space screened in part by a huge structural wall, and over to the right there are temporary partitions between his and the neighbouring unit. The ceiling is high and the large windows give plenty of (ideal North) light. Adding to this there is an upright collection (of something, canvasses?) covered in a grey, paint splattered sheet that provides him with further privacy. Hendrix, louche and hatted, works intently in behind all these screens. The studio, like others I have worked in, is rammed with random materials and half-finished/in progress works of art. Immediately to your left on entering, butting against the wall, is a metal storage cabinet covered in paintbrushes, stacks of cds and assorted art peripherals. Over to the right, between the upright canvasses and the partitions is a desk of some sort, also buried under a clutter of art materials. You have to squeeze past these two obstacles to see Jimi properly and enter the cramped workspace - there are small paintbrushes here, stored horizontally (presumably to dry out) and I am conscious that every time I squeeze past I am brushing against them with the back of my jacket, worried they'll fall (and potentially also start an avalanche of junk). He is listening to a cd and asks me to put on Bob Dylan-

He either asks for the specific track 'Unbreakable' or is the cd called 'The Unbreakable Bob Dylan'? I again make my way from the working space and check in the two stacks on top of the metal cabinet. There doesn't seem to be any Bob Dylan cds at all. I note that it is a (manageable) collection of his psychedelic contemporaries, that definitely includes Country Joe And The Fish. Some of the spines have 60's-ish psychedelic writing and patterns on them, too elaborate for me to read (though I kind of assume they are by Grateful Dead). Digging in deeper behind I am cheered to see a few dance/techno cd singles buried in under discarded sanding blocks or somesuch. I think I eventually take him back something and he changes the cd to whatever it is, some sort of chugging acoustic guitar music (we both know and like). Jimi talks about the piece he is working on and asks me to bring over the Rhino horn he has moulded to complete it – think in composition it's supposed to be crashing up through the floor of his painting/diorama. (There is also a painting of this horn, what looks at first like two (red) arms rising and clasping, but seems to take on a horn shape on second inspection.) I take the Rhino horn, stored as it is in a thick, semi-opaque polythene sheeting, over to him. There is a part of me that wonders if Jimi is on heroin (yet)? He tells me to take the mould and to show it to the comic artist Frank Quitely, saying something (jokingly) like, “go show that old … how he's leading me astray.” I agree to do so, edging my way carefully out of the unit and into the corridor-

As it is hollow I am wearing the Rhino horn mould on my left arm, brandishing it in the air like some strange alien limb. Worth noting it has a sort of unnatural claw-like protrusion about half way down and, as opposed to the material grey finish as it appeared in Jimi's studio, it is now covered in a brightly coloured camo-esque pattern. Being able to inspect it up close I also notice the finish looks more like Rhino skin, rough and mottled-

I am walking towards Frank Quitely and he is coming towards me. We seem to be in the same building, but in more of a cafeteria area, populated by small round tables with metal legs and a beech veneer finish. Before I am able to say a word he asks me "if I want to draw Doctor Who?" He explains something about how the comic rights are up for sale. I sit with him and our mutual artist friend Tee Cee (and one other?) at one of the tables. Frank then says something about looking at the art in the latest issue of Doctor Who as it is terrible. We talk about how we really shouldn't laugh at another artist's work and I am expecting the issue Tee Cee takes from his polythene bag to be just awful. It's actually, pretty good, a nice inky brush finish to the bold art over crisp flat colours. During this encounter I am aware of a woman and her teenage daughter at the table to our left – I recall having seen them seated earlier (somehow) and realise that they were negotiating to buy the comic rights (for 1 issue?) of Doctor Who too. I can't work out if the daughter has drawn an issue yet, nor if it is the one we are holding-

Tuesday, 7 January 2020


Something about my friend Enn Bee phoning me up and asking me about getting some chipboard so his father could do a loft conversion. I said that this was fine. The next time he phoned I said, though I had done nothing about it, that I had got it. He kind of assumed this also. So he started asking when I was going to go round and start doing the conversion for them. I hadn't realised they expected me to do it!-