Emblimmon

The male actor Taron Egerton (from Kingsman) is starring in some (Mark Millar-esque) bad taste-ish film. He has separated from the main gaggle of actors and has seated himself about half way up a run of stone steps. At times (to my confusion) he addresses a younger version of himself – who is definitely also played by him. He is reeling off some (supposed) joke about 'dolphin balls' replete with a graphic image (that he clasps somewhat clumsily in his left hand, his four fingers clamped between the two spherical 'ball' illustrations). His expression is knowing throughout and (to my surprise) he often breaks the fourth wall to address me directly-

Nondons

A sad (childhood friend) Arr Dee is lying under an L-shaped table made of dark timber. I seem to be wiping and wiping the surface (with milk?) to clean it-

He says, "Time slips by so fast..."

"I know!", I reply, "The first Indiana Jones film since 1984 tomorrow... I know it'll be rubbish but I'll still go and see it." (Arr too, but at home?)

"Does your brother like chesty girls?"

"He married a doctor so maybe he likes chesty coughs!"

The Nest

I am after/coming back from a night out with my (on/off) friend Cee Cee. I seem to have a few sizeable objects that I am carting about with me, the most memorable of which is a metal s/steel 'clapper' stepladder, the ladder and support hinged at the top under the top plate. Am I attempting to offload and ditch this unwieldy baggage but Cee insists that I can manage okay, only offering to help me manhandle them all the way home. I am unusually resistant to this - the first of many tense, heightened responses I experience in this vast dreamescape - as I simply DO NOT want him to come to my house under any circumstances. I don't even want him to know where I live. Of course, in spite of this deep, fevered resistance I seem unable to capably or honestly express my sentiments and as such the situation becomes somewhat tense and I intentionally withdraw, my mood sullen, as we near my flat. I continue to stall and delay in the close-

Kay Emm and I seem to have moved to a modern high-rise flat. I am quite sure we are living on the 18th floor. There seem to be tall buildings surrounding us and, no matter the copious amount of glazing (edged, I notice, with neat modern metal trims with a grey finish) it is difficult to discern or even see the ground. (This is perhaps in part due to my creeping fear of heights and an unwillingness to go near the windows for fear of falling out – it often feels like there is no actual glazing at all, such is the vertiginous nature of the environment, the flat seemingly open to the elements.)-

We have neighbours below, a woman with (at least) two teenage sons. They all seem nice and even quite sophisticated, but as the jumble of events progresses she radiates hostility and the younger of the teenage sons tries at one point to beat up – more tension! - Jay Haitch, my seven year old nephew, in the stairwell, the boy's smart, lean appearance masking a hitherto hidden cold and uncaring personality-

And then there's the flat above us, known as 'The Nest', a completely debauched hang-out for youngsters, a sort of all-night party den for Trainspotting-ish indulgences? I visit this unnerving environment, shocked at the zonked out (barely in their) teens, all slumped heaps and vacant stares. In the dim, dingy light I am subjected to some sort of attempted sexual assault or drugging – more tension! - an aggressive (and amused) response to my evident disgust and unwillingness to participate. My attacker's leering face looms large as he openly mocks me, his body often formless and misshapen, his arms and torso constantly contorting and then bloating, at times reducing to grotesque muscular stumps, spotted and covered in rashes. All the while he tries to subject me to whatever sick purpose he so desires as another braying face laughs sinisterly in the background-

I am out the back of 'The Nest' in the cool night – from here it looks like any other 1950's Scottish suburban home, a muddle of extensions and exposed pipework and rainwater downpipes finished in a white render-

At one point (in the flat stairwell?) two lades with yellow high-visibility-esque jackets traipse pass. They're pleasant enough in a zoned out kind of way. It seems they run 'Sound Control' another (dub music-centric) party hub on the 11th floor. The thought of being sandwiched between two non-stop raves causes me great concern – weren't we supposed to have moved somewhere more civilized? This leads to a highly emotional scene where, completely distressed, I plead with my companions(?) as to whether we did move or not. “Where do I live?!”, I exclaim, “where?!”. Is this a dream? I want to go back (to my spacious basement apartment). Can I go back? Can we go back?!

I DO however, go back to 'The Nest'-

Back in our flat with Kay Emm (and two others?) I say that I visited the outdoor activities shop – the top floor of the green building visible to the right of our flat and up – when they were having their closing down sale. (You can see it is now sitting empty the windows dirty, a few discarded shoe boxes stacked in the corner, up against the floor to ceiling glazing.) Suddenly the entire roof lifts off the shop, caught up by the wind, tumbling through the sky to land (with a less than appropriate muted clonk) upside down on our very own. I am terrified and look to see this detached roof take off once more and fall towards the (unseen) ground. Do I even hear it land? I am now very worried about the possible damage to our roof but am unable to get any sort of vantage where I can see-

Back at 'The Nest'. This time an old professorial fellow, round specs and a mullet of wiry grey hair, seems to be setting up in order to play the cello. He is tucked away to one side on a dimly lit ad-hoc stage. A burly younger man in a baseball cap is just visible to the professor's right, twiddling knobs on some equipment that is presumably part of their musical set up. Across from them, seated around a pillar, two casually dressed – short sleeved shirts and pressed slacks – British Asian men, both with moustaches, are casually stringing (with what looks like rubbery shoelaces on top of more traditional nylon strings) two lute/guitar-esque instruments. Walking beyond them I pass a vacant youth lost in a drug-induced stupor. At the front door(?) is a girl with neat, short black hair and plenty of dark eyeshadow and makeup on her face and lashes. She also has, dotted on her chin, comic book-style dots of stubble. She is ranting in frustrated and emotionally fragile manner, recounting conversations with friends who “ought to know better” - on a Tuesday night she comes to 'The Nest' and NO exceptions!-

Back at our flat and I am standing, quite exposed, on a balcony (again finished in a grey metal). By shifting my feet it has a very unsettling tilt, just like a see-saw, out towards thin air and back. I gingerly do this a couple of times before realising this is the downstairs neighbour's flat. Her (hitherto unseen) husband is down on his knees, his upper body stretched out on the floor ahead of him as he meditates/worships. I sheepishly apologise to her – evidently a shifting surface is not the best when trying to maintain religious focus-

I am now at our flat again, sitting by a small-ish square of flat roof and holding my infant son. I drop him, quite suddenly, over the edge. I dropped him!!! However much I try I cannot bring myself, nor force the dreamescape, to alter my vantage point and as such I begin to doubt if I did drop him.... I cannot look to see and so I continue to deny the fact in my mind-

Onkai

I am going out to meet my friend Vee Dee and several others for something to eat. The streets I am walking down are very reminiscent of my childhood hometown of Largs, that sort of leafy, seaside suburban feel. I meet Cee Cee, a former associate, and I am instantly annoyed and on the defensive. Rather than simply telling him to "piss off!" (as I dearly want to but am too (im)polite to) I am deliberately rude and evasive. At one point I consider telling him to ask Dee(?) why I don't like him – that's put her in the sh*t. He innocently tags along just as I expected him to. I behave more and more rudely towards him, giving him terse and blunt answers to his tedious and relentless questions-

I try try to send a text (on my archaic Nokia phone handset) but Cee Cee simply uses his own crappy silver Nokia handset to phone me, thereby disrupting my texting. This gets me really annoyed (though in a way I am impressed by his inventiveness). I swipe his phone from his hands and (fake) throw it away, quickly hiding it about my person. We square up as if to fight. This moment is interrupted as suddenly Cee has to take care of several tall metal window shutters, about a foot wide each and 6 feet or so tall. They are up off the ground and the last one has partially come off its hinges. I seem to make peace with him as I help him out, clambering up the side of the building and putting the shutter back on its (horizontal?) hinges with skill-

Embtolm

https://bookpalace.com/acatalog/Illustrators-Quarterly.html

I am at an exhibition. A small, neat man with glasses travels from left to right, crossing the room, passing several freestanding square display cases. He looks at me over the top of his glasses and remarks, “Ron Embleton, oh yes!” I am thinking Ron is 84(?) and that I have just cut his pages from my 1954 BEANO annual (with Dennis and Gnasher on the cover)-

aquariva.co.uk/

I am with my friend Tee Cee, two young British Asian boys (aged 8-ish) and two teenage boys (who I know are drummers). We are taking a Virgin branded helicopter down to Birmingham, a 2 hour trip, to visit Ron Embleton. The helicopter takes off along the street. I am belted in as it is my first time ever riding in a helicopter. The POV is from behind the pilot looking straight ahead. I am surprised how low we are flying, that the rotor blades are not clipping the trees to the side or snagging telephone wires and so on. It makes for a tense journey. The helicopter is very spacious inside and there is a polite hostess, who is very much like Kenny Everett's sidekick Cleo Rocos. It's very much like an old fashioned, classic hotel with ornately (and somewhat garish) carpets and stylish timber furniture. Is fellow cartoonist Kay Ess here too? The hostess lies (clothed!) on a large bed. All of us sit around and chat-

We arrive and land in Birmingham and walk to Ron's house. The two drummers, after some deliberation, decide to come along as there's enough time before their rehearsal/gig. (The dreamescape) Ron is old and balding (and quite stoned!). He takes something of a shine to me and often addresses me direct (with something of a knowing tone). At one point he says to me, in mock confidentiality, that Tee has never met a drug addict before... before quickly quipping that it's just the neighbours-

https://www.garnelenhaus.com

Everything Ron says is quite funny and good-natured but also something of an in-joke with his (present) daughter. At one point he tumbles about on the couch, rolling onto the floor, having bags of fun. Kay Ess starts to doze and – oh no! - there's a giant Allan Key suspended above his head! The living room we are in ajoins the kitchen and the rest of Ron's family, who all seem to be sleepy blondes with dazed, slightly amused expressions sit there. Wife? My phone clock displays '13:30' but it's actually '16:30'... but it's actually '18:00' on the dot! Time to go home. Ron gives Tee Cee a painting before we leave-