Mitnoj

I am on a blustery beach and I am both talking to, as well as watching, The Charlatans singer Tim Burgess.

Their late drummer Jon Brookes, if not exactly present, is certainly swirling about in the fabric of the dreamescape. Tim is talking about the drug Meribone/Meridone(?) and how it makes him float above the waves – it does! He then proceeds to talk about standing on the shore and taking a piss, conscious of the early evening tide coming in at his back-

Mottob

It seems I have booked in on a coach trip to see The Charlatans play a concert in Dublin (and the gig has finally been rescheduled due to the Coronavirus pandemic). As luck would have it I discover, after some initial confusion, that The Orb are playing later the very same night. So, assuming both gigs are still going ahead, I'm hoping to not only catch both concerts but also to see my old friend Dee Bee-

Unbeknownst to Dee Bee, myself and my old friend Arr are standing outside his (dreamescape bungalow) house, waiting by the hedge and peeking over into his front garden. Only Dee Bee's wife/partner and her pal are there, two chubby and jolly women discussing homemade sweets. “He'll like bonbons”, says Dee's partner, one of several remarks about the obvious delicacies she has made (for him)-

Within a flash (as per the dreamescape) the two women vanish to be replaced by Dee himself. We can just see his head and shoulders when suddenly he flops up and off his seat and waddles into full view, his formerly trim body ballooned into a wobbling, comical flabby ball shape. Although he doesn't acknowledge us he begins to act up, preforming little comedy trips and slides that would be quite amusing but for the fact he looks so ridiculous and bloated. “So not a good look”, remarks Arr-

I am watching Rik Mayall and Adrian Edmondson perform 'Bottom: Live', and I am both enjoying the performance and (as is my creative curse) often thinking beyond it and analysing it. At present they are being struck on the head in turn by a huge suspended wrecking ball. This happens a couple of times to each. After, as they recoil and recover, Ade/Eddie begins his next lines. It's then that blood becomes quite noticeable on Rik/Richie's right temple, a small trickle just at the hairline. The splotch gets steadily more bloody as Rik halts his performance to acknowledge it. Eddie has stopped too and the audience holds its breath. It is, of course, a cunning ruse and the pair of them turn, their faces contorted into smug, sneering 'gotchas!'. (As this has all been going on I clicked at the trick, marvelling at how Ade's behaviour must have drawn the audience attention away from Rik to allow him to place/puncture the blood bag.)-

Shrydauner

I am together, with Kay Emm, at the singer Shaun Ryder's house/flat. Ryder's brother (not Paul?), a gangly youth of about 18 (with a slightly rough and threatening air about him) and parents (who seem a kindly couple in their mid-to-late 40s?) are also present. (Being the dreamescape Ryder himself is easily in his 50s.)-

We are all waiting for something, something both inside (dinner?) and outside (unknown – nothing but a tense sensation). Shaun is not there that much and we spend most of the time with his younger brother (of whom I'm still somewhat wary in spite of his relaxed manner). I give the brother £30 which is to cover some favour/undertaking he/they have done for myself and Kay Emm. We talk about 'Madchester' and (either I can visualise or) Ryder has lots of photos of record shelves jammed with vinyl. Black and white individual photos of The Stone Roses and The Charlatan's frontman Tim Burgess - one where he's sticking out a huge Jagger-esque Rolling Stones tongue – as well as crude Madchester themed artwork such as lemons have been laminated and inserted as dividers. I am fascinated by this and mention that at the time you could buy Stone Roses collectible 6” figures (that I would have bought) as well as an Action Man sized Ian Brown doll. Shaun's brother did not know this-

It comes time to leave the room but there is suddenly a huge American Cadillac-style car with two people sitting in the front seats (and our luggage in the back?) blocking our exit. Ryder's brother simply manhandles the car up on its end using the rear axle/bumper and tilts/tips it out the (bedroom?) door-

We are now sitting in the front room. Ryder's father is eating a small circular dish of jelly with a Smartie set in the middle and several equally spaced around the edge. I'm sure these puddings are for the “kiddies” but still encourage (a reluctant) Kay Emm to have one for herself – to my mind they are a Polish treat-

I'm quite certain I need to split the £30 I handed over between Ryder and his brother and, by producing approx. £70 in notes from my pocket, hand him £15 (which I seem to think will then be passed to Shaun and all will be settled... Or does the brother give me the £30 back? At this point things get confusing and for the first time there is that first sense of threat and impatience in the air. Shaun, however, is not concerned – he says something about his brother giving him £1500 when offered the £15 by myself. As Shaun just woken up? Kay Emm seems to be very tired/sleeping-

I go into the first room and hunt out a small 'flip' mirror, curved at one end and in a white/ivory coloured plastic case. As I am examining this object Ryder's mother – she has a dark mop of hair, big, honest eyes and an open, jolly but weary face – enters and says something about 'Uncle Vanya' (a play?). I'm not sure what she's referring to – the mirror? - but she is so amused and laughs away. I force myself to join in-

Nechyl

I am at a The Charlatans concert in the Glasgow Barrowland Ballroom. (Again, as ever, the dreamescape version bears no relation the reality aside from the pervading sensation of being the exact place.) I am surprised at the size of the crowd, counting in the region of 10-20 people, marvelling that the band could previously sell out 3 (full capacity) nights in a row. Towards the end of the gig everyone lines up to participate in a sort of ad hoc conga (around some sort of central sound desk construct in the middle of the venue's dancefloor). I am very careful not to stand in any dog dirt that has been trampled into the grass(?). When the gig is finally finished it seems as if that is well and truly it for the venue, that it will be closing forever, the cloakroom on 'lockdown' unless you pay (considerable) money to retrieve your belongings-

I am outside in a market space and spot my old student friend Dubya Arr walking near me. He sports long, greying hair and wears a faded t-shirt and denims, clomping and stomping along comically as we both jokingly pretend not to recognise/acknowledge one another. We eventually stop to talk and I tell him I was at a Canyon (a Canadian alt-country band he and I both like) concert. I shy away from the reality it was in fact The Charlatans, worried that mentioning them will damage my credibility – a decision itself that then plagues me as I toil with considering telling the actual truth. Dubya seems to be helping an old man his dried squid stall and we examine several of his wares, each bisected perfectly down the centre and dried so that the skin has a cooked, cold pasta-like constituency-

Charwai

I am in a bar with my friend Dee Bee. He is recounting an experience he had there and (being the dreamescape) it then seems to bleed into realtime, the recollections merging with the present, the events described unfolding before my eyes (almost as if I am witnessing/near-interacting directly – given time it all mergews into one). The bar has a glazed wall to the front and is spread over three levels each up a flight of timber central stairs and stepped back from the other, a timber handrail running alongways and tables and chairs grouped to either side. The timber is unfinished throughout and the bar has a pleasantly low-key, rustic and relaxed feel, the chatting people often reduced to dark shapes against the soft natural light. Dee Bee is staking out the (Charlatans) singer Tim Burgess – Tim, in his Phoenix '95 era, is animated, drinking and cajoling with a couple of male friends – hoping that he can (gently) collar him at some point and play a tune (he has been carefully planning out) on the small organ that lives on the highest level. “It's now or never...” and so Dee Bee ambles from where we are seated, approaching Tim, who is standing chatting to the left of the stairs that lead to the third level and- 

Success! We are now on the third level. Dee Bee sits on Tim's left hand side at the small (timber cased, with a high back like an upright piano) organ. They are jamming out The Charlatans track 'Weirdo', with Tim following the song's chords with single fingers while a crouched Dee Bee solos intensely on the high notes, the fingers of his right hand working away feverishly to produce a rolling, rapid riff. Dee Bee finishes on a sustained high note and I joke to (The Charlatans guitarist) Mark Collins, who has been lounging impassively next to me all this time, that it must be the 'Tinnitus Remix'. He and I laugh at this- 

I am now sitting at a table to the right of the stairs up from the first to second level. Myself, Dee Bee, Mogwai guitarist Stuart Braithwaite and A.N. Other are chatting and drinking. Dee Bee excuses himself (and A.N. gently fades out of the dreamescape) and Stuart and I continue talking. Stuart's face is all wobbly around the edges, the dreamescape applying a drunken visual effect to match his loose, boozy patter. Stuart asks me what age I am and I say I'm 43. It turns out he's actually 42(?) and, surprised, we joke about how I'm obviously ahead of the curve! I ask him what he studied at University (wondering if we might have by chance met back then) and he says Psychology. He remarks he studied for a year in Ireland then he went off to Argentina for a year (the details of which are a bit 'hazy')... Dee Bee is getting ready to leave for his train back to Edinburgh and I am torn between offering to buy Stuart a drink and heading off myself. I check the time and it is 10:12, much earlier than I thought. I decide to stay with Stuart and Dee Bee gives me quite the forlorn backward glance as he troops off down the stairs to leave. (I am quite vexed by this decision at the time.)- 

I am now out walking in a sort of docklands area with Stuart. He drops a ping pong ball, with a small black pen mark on it. I scramble to retrieve it from under a concrete bench, saying about how he should do something similar at Mogwai gigs. He then tells me about the maddest thing he (and a pal) ever did at Art School- 

Cut to – swimming in the water. Stuart and his pal are paddling, swigging from bottles of beer as they do so. They are barely keeping their heads above water and it laps over my dreamescape 'camera POV'. I am then standing at the edge of the pier/dock, looking down on Stuart as he awkwardly shimmies his way up the stone wall, settling his elbows then drawing up his legs. He says that this is a technique called “…?”, a statement immediately echoed by my (suddenly appeared) little brother-

Liccono

I am with (the late) The Charlatans keyboard player Rob Collins. He's casually dressed, as per their Weirdo promo photos, with denims, a t-shirt and a bomber jacket on top. His hair is long-ish, cut in around his neck. We are talking about him being the 'Hammond King' and somehow we make a jump to/joke of the 'Hammond Queen'. He quips that whichever of these it is that it's always “cold wars” (and I remember thinking is that because the organ keys are cold to the touch?). We are walking near a bungalow, similar to the one I grew up in, and I can just make out huge The Charlatans posters on the internal walls - I can see them through the blinds over the large front windows - and I'm sure I heard something about an exhibition- 

I am with my big brother and Noel Gallagher. I am slagging Noel a little about Oasis as he starts to take off - we are in a sort of airlock/plane environment and he and my brother are securely belted in, Noel over to the left, my brother to the right, nearer myself. I am frightened as Noel (who seems to be in complete control without there being any evidence of actual, physical controls) really begins to tilt the plane(?), intentionally climbing to a high altitude. I am desperately grasping for supporting handles over by my brother, hanging on with one hand for dear life, terrified that Noel will opt to open the door to the plane and that I will be sucked out. I somehow manage to reach right across the compartment, my body at full stretch, to grip the support handle on Noel's side too, somewhat easing my fear of being ejected- 

We are now walking with Noel in Glasgow. I am mocking his brother Liam's new singing style, singing unintelligible lyrics down through my nose, breathing and rushing as he does these days. I try this again, with actual lyrics, with considerably less (amusing) success. I talk to Noel about Mogwai, saying that 2(?) of the members own a pub in Berlin, one owns a vegan cafe in the Southside of Glasgow and that their guitarist Stuart Braithwaite does a lot of community work there too. Noel seems non-committal as to whether he has met or even likes them-

Our route takes us to some historic buildings of considerable architectural beauty, great ornate structures with exceptional decorative stonework, street archways and features. There are several of these constructs and we walk between them in quiet wonder. Noel approaches a very fancy set of double doors, doors finished in a swirling timber veneer with wrought metal handles. I make a joke about him probably being important enough to get them to open and indeed he is. He reappears with a bundle of mail which, as it happens, seems to be addressed to the art Studio where I used to work. Noel sifts through the mail, passing me several envelopes (addressed to Brian Miller?) that he quickly dismisses as 'gas bills'. The envelopes, evidently regarding some business, are so aged they have almost become opaque, the slip of paper visible within. There is also a letter for Kay Emm in the pile-

Bayzle

https://www.onefm.ch

A puzzling variety of dream (facial) hairstyles. I am looking close up at myself(?), staring straight into my eyes. Static, light sky blue background. I barely resemble myself – part of my puzzlement – my features regular, almost handsome, with slicked back long hair on top and a long, neatly styled (hipster?) beard that continues down out of shot. (Nothing like my close-cropped reality) I return to this silent still a couple of times, the image perplexing me. Again, also looking straight, I have a SIA-esque mushroom hairdo, only it's tatty blonde dyed this time (like Tim Burgess) that completely covers my face and features. My head is smaller in this wide frontal shot, peeking in the bottom of the large frame. Oddly, when I look close up, at a 2/3 angle to the right side of my face, I have tilted my head back, the (same?) hair falling away to reveal a pair of rounded shades and a puzzling sort of smooth beard that seems kind of wet/matted, if it's not actually part of my skin. The top lip especially holds my focus-

Toninelf

https://www.mojo4music.com

At some sort of function in a smart house. Very clean and crisp feeling, nice green-ish patterned wallpaper and lots of dark timber fittings and furniture. Daytime. Soft light. A few of us – think we're in suits? - are talking. Ahead of me the room opens directly into a corridor and immediately round the corner another group of men are gathered. In response to something – something I overhear? - I make a loud quip in a “I'm Gonna Git You Sucka!” style voice. As soon as I say it I (and those around me) realise it's deeply offensive. We walk out into the corridor/hall and I am faced by an older man. He looks slightly American Indian but with Chinese features too. He has long, straggly dark hair. I am VERY apologetic towards him and am nearly in tears-

I am sitting (in the same house environment) with Tim Burgess and a woman nicknamed 'Flower'. Tim is to my left and Flower is next to him. Tim's hair is short and unkempt, somewhat plastered to his scalp and face. We are talking. Tim is talking about how you cannot make an album if you are stoned all the time, mentioning that Ali (Campbell, from UB40, I think) made three records for him and they were all no good. At one point it looks like Tim and Flower are kissing, their faces are very close together (I can really only see the back of Tim's head). Tim then turns and seeing his profile he has a tiny, 1cm long (if that) cigarette/joint between his lips. It's as thin as a propelling pencil lead and is smoking at the end. He then offers me what looks like the shaft of a propelling pencil. It's hollow at one end and smoke is rising from it. The other end, which has what looks like a touchscreen pad on it is the same, only this is a brown substance that is also smouldering and crackling. I take a few hesitant sniffs of the smoke. Tim is encouraging me, saying it has acid in it. Has Flower collapsed or taken ill? In no panic at all Tim takes her to go upstairs. As he heads off with her I am talking about their third album, Up To Our Hips, and how to me it sounds like a record made by people who were stoned as opposed to, say, Dark Side Of The Moon, which is a record that sounds stoned in itself. I refer to the “washes of cymbol” and other such things-

http://scriptshadow.net

I follow upstairs. I am concerned that I will begin hallucinating after inhaling. There is a big guy upstairs too, like the American Indian from One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, and he sort of tails me about. Do I hear a strange, “wah wah!” noise from some bird, worried that my trip has begun? I decide to get my guitar, thinking that by playing that I will anchor myself should I start to hallucinate. There's a small sort of timber shelf and it has several plectrums on it, all in some sort of disrepair. Some are rounded, almost circular, some are cracked and in fragments. I am thinking I can take 2 of these as being at my Gran's(?) they're hardly used and mine anyway. I start to play (very well), getting great, raw guitar sounds with simple variations on the standard A-Chord fingering on the lower frets. Both my strumming hand and fretting hand seem to be making music almost independently. At one point I run the plectrum down my front – it scrapes (with a fantastic sound) down what looks like simple sack material, leaving a stream of water in its wake-

I am looking for Tim. I go into one room – are there two poeple in there? - and make my quiet excuses and leave. I enter the room next door and at the end of the corridor. Flower is lying on a bulky timber table and four or five people, including Tim, are standing around seemingly concerned for her well-being. Tim asks me to leave-

Ibbule

At home in the flat. In the living room, though the furniture does not correspond to reality. Hard to picture or recollect any of the furniture, be it existing or dreamt. I am strutting about aware I am wearing tracksuit trousers only, my top bare - I can see myself doing this. It feels like it is getting dark and it is raining, or has been, outside. Rain on the windows. 'Just When You're Thinkin' Things Over' by The Charlatans is playing on the stereo, the tumbling piano riffs quite apparent. I seem to be trying to apply lots of Bonjela in at my upper gums, putting lots on my finger and roughly massaging it it. I can almost see the inside of my mouth, my mind's eye helping my finger locate the ulcers(?). The Bonjela is in an (uncharacteristically) orange tube and the cap is discoloured - almost transparent - with a brown-ish sort of crust inside and around the groooves where it screws. I hear a knock, or more three steady taps as if with a single focussed finger, at the front door. Or I think it is the front door. Was it at the window? I exit the living room and go into the hall. The front door looks different to reality, with a few parallel grooves cut into the white painted wood running around the perimeter. I look through the spyhole and no one is there. I ask if anyone's there. Then the door begins to shift abruptly as if someone is trying to pull it open out into the close. I grab the handle to stop this. Conscious of the light creeping in from the close around the edge of the door. I am struggling to keep it closed, asking who it is-

https://www.discoverwildlife.com

At some sort of vegetable patch allotment with Pee EmmCeeCee. There are rows and rows of cabbages or such planted and the occasional taller hedge-like line with crude timber doors set into them for access. There is a tiger roaming around the area. It seems to be circling us and we are skipping over the vegetables in the hope of reaching one of the doors. We make it through just in time, the tiger beaten back as we close the door over. Is the tiger then in the enclosure with us? I take my shoulder bag and present it to the tiger. It grips it between its teeth and I simply flip it up into the air and it is thrown away from us. It lands in the vegetable patches and quickly rights itself, shaking its head as if dazed-

Dinfrit

http://automotorpad.com

Guys driving about in out garden in a Ford Fiesta. Skidding about on the grass like crazy. Frightening. I was calling out to my father for help. He was sitting at my parent's bedroom window writing. I was in the garden-

Scene in some sort of cafe. The waitresses wore typical clothing, though a little low cut, comprising light blue shirt and a white apron. Sort of saucy 'Carry On...' style feature. One waitress pulled down her top and, with a saucy laugh, plopped her breasts out. Another woman sat topless and my attention, and hand, was focussed on her left nipple. My hand approached and tweaked the nipple revealing it to be a weird insect, a sort of butterfly-like colourful object-

It had blank, ink-like splotches interspersed with bright red and yellow colours. Needless to say this all got a huge laugh. I then proceeded into the rear of the cafe and through into the kitchen/staff area. There was a TV set on a cabinet in the corner and a waitress breastfeeding her baby. Bee from Presto supermarket was there too-

The waitress said something like, “How I manage to … and be a working mother today, I just don't know!” The middle part of this was the gag and again everyone laughed heartily. Bee looked at us and said something and laughed-

First day back at University in second year. Walking along to Unit 6. All the Unit temporary separating timber partitions had gone and everything was open plan. 'I Never Want An Easy Life If Me Or He Were Ever To Get There' by The Charlatans was playing on a stereo. Everyone was singing along. I got to Unit 6 and sat down next to my friend Jay Cee at the wall. We were all singing along-

Lortret

University Professor Eff Dubya and his brother. They are talking about the 'building report' assessment. Big blue wooden slatted house, like that of the Addams Family, and similarly spooky. I drew it. Eff Dubya is talking about its unconventional design. Kenneth Frampton's Modern Architecture book. Pictures of frog corpses crawling with flies. Took a while to work out that an image was a huge empty frog eye socket with flies crawling all over it. All very transparent, a light green/lime colour. Eff talks about how if it is built then people will come to eat and that it did not have to be built in a certain place because people would come to it anyway(?). In the student halls at University. Met two Charlatans fans and we show off our t-shirts to each other. Other folk were asking who they were. One guy looked very much like my friend Enn Ess but it definitely wasn't him. Was wearing my “Tim Negative” Charlatans shirt at the time-

Luglit

Afternoon. Goes by. I miss a Critique/Presentation at University and the later The Charlatans concert. It is 7:41pm and the gig starts at 8:00pm. No way I will make it. I kick the VHS video clock. It jumps back to 7:33. Then switches off. Broken. My father comes in and starts commenting-

Berdle

https://en.wikipedia.org/

In a room. The Charlatans drummer John Brookes and the (young) actor Fred Savage are present. BTE 1B assessment. All had about 15 minutes to complete it. Going to work at the Presto supermarket dairy department at 11 o'clock? Hair wouldn't stay in place so used milk/pure orange juice on it. Nelroy(?) was working on scaffolding in Cunningham Drive-

Hirflinn

https://www.pinterest.co.uk

I'm with Tim Burgess in a sort of dimly lit student union environment. We've been discussing/analysing a sort of burger-like construct, made from 3 or so layers of greeny/yellowy thick plastic piled on top of each other. Are there words written on it? Not sure if we've even been responsible for assembling it. He seems very thin, dressed in a smart, skinny-fit black shirt with matching jeans. I see his body, lanky and hunched together in the seating, worryingly so, his arms and torso about the same width, but not his face. I sense, rather than see, he has the strange dyed-black pudding-bowl cut of 2010's Who We Touch. Martin Blunt, looking wired and lairy has arrived and is very much 'in our face'-

http://www.jwpagency.com

Desperate for something to say I say I'm desperate for something to say, eventually mentioning that I had seen Brian Auger's Oblivion Express - with a spritely Alex Ligertwood in tow - in concert. I marvel and enthuse about Brian Auger being 75 years old and putting in such a spirited and energetic performance. The pair of them agree about his continued Hammond Organ skills. In the midst of this (in)tense conversation I see Mark Collins and Tony Rogers arrive. They are carrying a thin striped camp bed mattress each, complete with a (loosely) fitted sheet, and proceed to bed down on the floor of the union behind where we're seated and-