Thursday, 26 November 2020


I am getting into a 'black cab' taxi with a young woman. She is tall, refined, her hair cropped short to the back and sides, the fringe long and styled in a neat parting. I am quite anxious when we are seated as I obviously like her and there is a definite sense of anticipation. The reason for our journey together is something to do with seeing (about) my underground cartoonist friend John G. Miller. As it is we are not able to leave just yet for I tell her to ask the driver to wait while I go back (upstairs?) to do or sort something. This muddled process takes much longer that I expected - though I don't recall the actual task as much as the stress of searching and rushing - and by the time I return the black cab has gone. In its place the young woman is now sitting in the back seat of her parents brown hatchback car. She tells me the driver of the taxi left after growing impatient - it's been that long - and her parents are hardly exuding a sense of patience towards me. She tells me to put my stuff in the boot of the car and however many times I try - it is of an American-ish design, comprising a lower 'flap' that closes upwards to be locked in place by a 'lid' that shuts down over it, holding it in place. The components feel like they are made of cardboard and seem flimsy and insecure. It simply will not catch and each time I'm sure it has latched the lid drifts upwards and the flap flops down. After my third or fourth attempt the young woman's father unbuckles his belt and, frustrated, come out to assist me- 

We are chasing a car towards the block of flats where I used to live. The vehicle we are pursing turns into the access to the parking that divides the two buildings in the development. The vehicle is trapped as there is a car stopped ahead of it and another quickly races in to the rear, blocking any chance of escape. I get out of the car I am in - not the same as the above - and dash over. The car I believed to be trapped seems to have completely vanished, although the search for the occupants continues, with several people looking over by the River Kelvin (as the development backs on to it). Instead of the brush and bushes I expected to see beyond the chain link fence on the steep banks down to the river there is instead a (slippery looking) set of prefabricated concrete steps that descend into the murky water. I scale the chickenwire fence and negotiate the steps and here I spot the couple (presumably from the car) both doing the breaststroke, swimming and splashing in the water the man to the front, a woman trailing. They are heading upstream towards the (relative) cover of the looming, heavy stone roadbridge to my right. I clear my throat and, after some careful consideration - am I with a woman? - I spit at the man in the water. He looks very much as former Creation Records boss Alan McGee does now, the round bald head and puckered features - he's even wearing shades! The globule of spit just goes over his head, plopping into the water ahead of him (at this point he is looking towards the woman swimmer). He turns towards me and, paddling to stay afloat, exclaims something like, "spat at by an Alan McGee lookalike!"

A small timber room is being prepared for a wedding party. It is accessed via a short corridor formed as the gents toilet is to the left and the ladies toilet to the right, a set of double doors (open at this time) spanning the gap. I'm puzzled to see that some sort of timber construct has been built that prevents the toilets from being accessed from the room side - one has to go out the doors and round to visit the single cubicle. The room itself is small and has no furniture as yet - I can recall wondering how on earth they will host a party here (as well as noting a few decidedly lonely looking white balloons dotted about the place)- 

There is some sort of flat/communal housewarming taking place. I think this is in the same building as the wedding room, but events are jumbled. Am I desperately packing for the same wedding? I don't seem to have witnessed the actual event but (all the same) I can clearly recall that one man casually stabbed another in the side- 

It is a fresh evening and I am waiting in a hospital car park, the light from the lobby illuminating the dark parking forecourt. A woman (one of the other neighbours?) drives up in her car. Evidently it is visiting hours and she says to me, "what will we talk about?". (Thinking of the stabbing) I say, "Oh, I'm sure you've plenty of things to talk about!"- 

I am back at the flats and am strolling along the access corridor. I keep snagging the top of my head on the (surprising amount of) short plastic string clotheslines that are strung across the space (at 30-50cm intervals)-

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