Sunday, 27 September 2020


In a concrete built environment, all very solid, angular and drained of colour. I am at the head of a group, the group itself more or less being lead by my friend Ayy Jay Ess as I power out in front in an angry and unsettled strop. This is because I have taken umbrage at Ayy Jay Ess for directing the group's attention to copycat John Miller graffiti. It's obviously fake but Ayy Jay Ess still enjoys enthusing about John Miller's genius to the attentive audience while I, for some reason, (inwardly) object to this-

We reach a set of steps, cut into the harsh, solid surroundings, that lead up to a University building. I have purposely ignored some graffiti on the wall prior to this but make my way, bothered, back down the steps to inspect what all the/Ayy Jayy Ess's fuss is about, dismissing the (admittedly quite good) postering – 'WAH!' or John's cat character Zooty? - and sloganeering immediately (but staying longer to study and admire it anyway)-

I am in some enormous dimly lit lecture theatre that slopes sharply down to the stage. I am with a black guy – cropped hair, thick NHS glasses, stubble – and he and I converse as we make our way to our seating. The chairs are much older than they first appeared, and the seating is quite cramped, covered in worn fabric of faded reds and blues. There is no aisle to speak of and we simply (cautiously) step on the seats as we descend. The theatre becomes more and more visibly tatty (and steep!) as we do so – I am questioning the condition as much as the vertiginous design at this point – and yet I seem to be drifting, gently springing with minimum contact between (several) rows (at a time) as we near the stage-

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