Wednesday 27 June 2018

Berdle


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-

Friday 22 June 2018

Chuntinnet


Grant Morrison thumps a crooked tool on the steel plate lid, the child to be revived and reborn stirs in the confines of the half wine barrel below. Grant intimates success and the warped snuffles suggest that it is so-

Tuesday 19 June 2018

Hirflinn


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'-


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-

Sunday 10 June 2018

Arrhunne


Helen Daniels from Neighbours. Loads of balloon/parachute-type things. These suddenly started whooshing up in the air for no apparent reason. She was totally crapping it. Very scary-

Thursday 7 June 2018

Mawwfel


Uncomfortably calm piano music plays as the aircraft takes off forever, Alan Moore's sedate yet unsettling drawl making for a creepy pilot-

Friday 1 June 2018

Lirvply


At home in the kitchen of the old Largs house. Am confused, trying to empty the washing machine but not sure if I'm taking the washing - several bundled duvet and pillow covers - from the machine or the neighbouring oven, which if not on, is definitely warm. This bemused thought and mix of images crowds my mind as I heave the damp fabrics into my arms. Conscious of my mother hovering about, talking, and a sense that my younger brother is also present, angry and plotting to hit me. Now in the back garden. Low, rendered garage to my right/the west and a central square lawn with a clothesline running along the east side. I sling the washing onto the line in a damp, heavy heap, causing the line to stretch under the weight. Will it rain? Is it spitting already? My younger brother, gangly and naked, with his hair pulled back in a tight bun, is stalking the flower beds to my left. I assume, though he pays me little attention, that he's planning to attack me or make a grab for the washing. Again wondering if it will rain - heavy knit of clouds to the east/the hills and gathering to the west too (though there's a vague upside down triangle of bright blue sky dead ahead). In the sky above the garage a small sort of flying submarine - somewhere between Nite Owl's ship and an underwater ski from 007's Thunderball - is visible against the cloud, a light shining on its right side. It drifts silently down into the garden and lands. The sky is darkening further-


Nicky Campbell is the pilot and he gets out and explains that he only has 3 minutes of flight at a time before he has to land (presumably to recharge). We chat about how he must be hopping from garden to garden sussing out people for interviews for ITV. No, it's BBC! Now the cloud/fog is really rolling in in a thick blanket. It's suddenly as if there's a low ceiling formed of a grill or perforated surface over the entire garden and Nicky and I watch with apprehension as the fog filters through to where we are. To the touch you can tear the seeping fog as if it is cotton wool - I surmise that this is due to it mixing with age-old dust in the perforations. I ask Nicky if he wants to come into the house until this (creepy) phenomena has passed. We go in the back door and through the kitchen on through into the living room to join the family. I peek out the front curtains and it is dark, the front lawn/flower beds covered in a light dusting of snow, the scene faintly lit by the streetlights. I say to everyone that it looks okay out front and-