Biride

I am throwing a huge housewarming party (for a huge dreamescape house). Andy Bell from the band RIDE is there and, at first, he seems to be floating in the air, arms and legs outstretched as he drifts gently. He is wearing an old blue 'birdmania' RIDE t-shirt and I remark that I have the purple variation/edition and that his shirt is quite different from mine, with chunks of what look like rock scattered about the logo and rendered in the same orange print. There is also an illustration of an astronaut (with no visor) with a guitar – this is rendered in a nice purple/blue pastel style – who is tumbling through space just like Andy. A closer inspection shifts this drawing to that of an Action Man (toy) and I note the joints at his wrists-

Edir

I am with RIDE and we are playing a gig. Mark Gardener is not present and so, with Steve Queralt opting for (replacement) rhythm/second guitar, I have gamely stepped forward (or convinced them I'm capable enough) to fill his boots and am a good fit for bass. The opening track is 'Seagull' and, of course, at that exact moment I have no idea how to play the bassline (which technically kicks off the song). I run my fingers gently over the strings, softly fretting them here and there on the neck in an embarrassed attempt to quietly figure out the riff. With the song having subsequently fizzled out – to the obvious impatience of the band and audience – we try another, one beginning with a simple picked guitar refrain. I quickly (and luckily) happen to chance upon two notes that sit nicely enough (even if they unimaginatively adopt a steady back and forth timing) under this. Again I get lost at the chorus and only really establish the correct key/notes as we jump back into the verse, leaving my playing trailing once more-

Kynft

Something to do with the release of a third RIDE single. The song was definitely not on the album. The title definitely had the word 'shell' in it- 

Trying to run to a hill in the middle of a flat area. Tall grass. However, the army were coming too and their intentions were far from good in my eyes- 

Had to really run it. As I was doing so formations of army jet fighters would scream overhead- 

This happened several times. I was absolutely pelting it towards the hill now. Then the first plane dropped a rocket there was an explosion- 

I knew their intentions. I was so close to the hill at that first explosion that I now knew I had to get away. The frightening thing was the whole squadron were now dropping their rockets. These hit the ground and then propelled themselves along it through the tall grass into the mountain to explode- 

The rockets were huge white things with red painted tips. They moved at an incredible speed. At one point when they came in droves one of them clipped me. So lucky to get away. While this was going on, and as rocket after rocket piled into the mountain, I caught glimpses of huge, great stone constructions, presumably made by aliens- 

Totally massive and utterly compelling structures- 

At this point on of the planes was burning clusters in the grass with its downturned jets as it landed to see if I was okay- 

The pilot was a black woman. She'd landed against orders. Now an onlooker as my character became a short-haired, thin woman arguing with an army superior (who had turned up to discipline the black pilot and remove her). She was totally shouting about, and swearing about her “right to know!” Sad that I never got to see the hill again. Had it been blasted to a big crater, to create a landing site like that in 'Close Encounters'? Was the thing in the hill to be blasted out?

Tarntle

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New York (where I have never been). Standing, unsure, at the start of a bridge that arches high over the water. My friend Cee Cee is accompanying me. The central body of the bridge is painted gloss black steel, with ribbed footholds on the surface, and two adjacent pedestrian walkways, one to either side. These have white upright circular hollow steel handrails with a macadam footpath running at a less sharp, more steady angle. I am put off from taking this route, unsettled by the sight of the dark, restless water beyond, and acutely aware of a gap in the railing. I feel exposed to the elements, and this gives way to a perpetual sense of instability, as if I am standing at a great height and may be swept off my feet at any second. Suddenly I looked to my left, aware of a feeling of evening sky, which obscures the two distant geometric buildings. I realise this reddish effect is in fact balloons, and advance on to the bridge, my camera pointed at the sky, my feet tracing the surface of the ribs for a stable foothold. The balloons then subsequently descend amongst the gathered crowd and I sense that the bridge sits up on high, an opening in a vertical wall of the cityscape. I look up to see a seabird circling in the sky above. Beyond this I can see a myriad of balloons that have become trapped on their ascent, huddled beneath the darkening arch of what I take to be yet another bridge much higher above. The bird veers suddenly and, to my shock, crashes almost right at my feet. It then reveals itself to be a small model plane, made of balsa wood and paper. Together with an American youth, in casual gear: shorts, colourful socks bunched around his ankles, we examine the broken fragments. We each then chose a wing, covered in a sweet pink sugar coating with yellow writing, to eat. Cee Cee, knowing we only have the rest of today and tomorrow morning to holiday, advises me we still have time to see Manhattan-

We cross the bridge. The first building I see, directly in front of me but facing off to the right, is a large Arabasque construct, with an opening arch turning to a point at the apex and discreet lighting down either side. The surrounding buidings and streets are more modest in size, but they make up for any inferiority with an abundance of strip and neon lighting advertising the goods on sale therein. I have a sense of discussing this area with my friend Pee EmmCee, but I am definitely now talking with an American girl, with whom I have struck up a warm and instant friendship. We 'surf' the shops as indescriminately as one would the internet. One store, selling African goods, has a variety of small, flexible, beaded plates on offer, in a mixture of cyans and blacks and reds. There are four different coloured dogs behind the counter, each dressed in a tight woollen costume, complete with stitched noses, mouths, and old fashioned button eyes. On closer inspection they seem to me like aged jacket buttons, browning leather with stitching across in an 'X' or '+' pattern. My companion urges me to leave the second the dog nearest us begins to stir and take notice-

We are now in some sort of record bazaar, a 'U' shaped market space comprising a series of small shop units with their own roll-down black shutters. This occupies the Arabesque building. I spot a copy of RIDE's 'Today Forever:expanded', which I see contains 8 songs that I don't know, together with a further 8, equally split between 2 other artists. My companion is amused by my wanting to leave before I am continually drawn to the site of yet another Traffic rarity, inhabiting a Pommes Fritz-era Orb cover. We walk through more shops / units and I see books both old and new, and I remark that I have been here before. I feel it is the books that are familiar, if not the place. I look again at the same African dishes, but in a different shop, conscious of another stitched, woollen dog. This turns out to be a friendly Golden Labrador, but my companion urges me not to touch it as it sweeps the display with its massive head. As we reach the turn of the 'U' some units are beginning to close, rolling down their shutters, and I start to talk about how the record shops in Glasgow are closing down, lost, and that the feeling of this market is precisely what has vanished. At this moment my companion has become Kay Ess, but she still speaks in an American accent-