Walsharm

On a bus travelling at night. It doesn't seem that busy, or that there are many seats. I can really only picture myself seated and space around me. Obviously the driver is seated ahead of me (both of us on the left of the vehicle). 'Germs' by Acetone begins to play over the sound system. I am quite startled, and happily so, to hear this. It doesn't sound exactly like the recorded version, maybe a bit slower and without vocals? This is followed by 'Final Say', which again I recognise even if it does not sound quite like the studio recording. This is exciting for me, and I want to be sure to talk to the driver about the band-

We are back at the hotel(?) and I make a point of talking to the young driver in the bar. The environment here is not hugely different from the bus. It's quite dark and doesn't seem that busy. I don't recall the bar itself, but I think I have a pint of beer. The driver sits at a table and opens a small grey laptop. I stand to his back, to his right. After our initial talk he then introduces me to a girl he's talking to on Skype. Even though they are talking she only appears on the laptop screen in profile. He then chats more to her about things, including me. Is there something about a podcast and how that would be proof of...?-

I am with (the comic character) Marshal Law and we are infiltrating/have infiltrated some sort of criminal base or stronghold. I'm aware I have no weapon at all. We seem to be trapped (or hiding out) in a tight stairwell. The building is very plain, simple blockwork and plaster walls. Our pursuers wear sort of army green tight fitting gimp costumes (like S&M Norts from Rogue Trooper via Marshal Law's world). It is very tense as the troops close in on where we are hiding. I have to judge where they are coming from, listening intently and watching carefully for any shadows on the opposing wall that might betray their approach. The first comes from my right and I whip away his legs - the stair is sufficienty steep that I am practically at that height - dragging him down to Marshal Law who then dispenses him with a single shot. The next I slightly misjudge and he arrives from the left. Unfortunately his gun jams and, unable to fire shots, I quickly drag him down too. The third approaches from the right again and we dispose of him with ease-

I have a recollection of places being called K**tsville and Thaerum Thaelitz/Thaeritz(?)-

I have joined a crowd of gig goers - did they flood the stairwell and I have followed them out into the night streets? - and am walking with them. They are all sort of indie-emo types, dyed hair and dark, alternative clothing. I am wondering where Kay Emm is. I'm sure she'll let me know she's alright though neither of us has a phone. Am I walking up Bath Street in Glasgow, a bus stopped at the lights, but also aware the road is closed? The bus is also heading into town, against the natural flow of traffic-

Epsmer

I was in the front lounge and was m****rbating. Lunch was called so I hastily finished and tidied myself and the mess up. I went through to the kitchen and sat at the table with my two brothers while my mother prepared lunch. Lunch was like Heinz Spaghetti but served in a soup bowl. My mother went off to answer the phone or something. I think I somehow managed to spill my bowl. While cleaning up I noticed a piece of spaghetti on the side of the bowl was moving. It looked sort of spaghetti-like but more transparent and with a black head. It was also wriggling horribly. I was screaming to my brothers. Then from the bowl sprang what looked like this-

It looked similar but was all smeared in tomato sauce. It was as if somehow my sperm had mingled with the spaghetti and created this living thing. Completely horrible. As it crawled in at the kitchen cupboard kickboards we eventually, thanks to the fact that it was slow moving, stamped the thing into a spaghetti drenched mass. All it was made of was pasta and sauce. Just as I'd cleaned this up another thing flew out from my bowl. It made it over to the corner cupboard (which was open) in the kitchen. I got some kitchen towel and went over and just grabbed its tail as it tried to slither in. I lost my grip and it slithered away in amongst the tins. I thumped the worksurface in frustration, but also in hope it might attract the creature. I saw some prawns in a polystyrene packet being moved and put my hands in and grabbed. I got it! I was just wrapping it up and putting it in the kitchen bin as my mother came back in and asked what was going on. I said that, “it was nothing.”-

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-

Ladlackd

The setting was much like Blackadder Goes Forth - he had his moustache and Baldrick and Captain Darling were about too. I was there too, but not in the role of George. It was as if Largs railway station was at, say, one of the bridges over Charles Street or John Street. Positioned much like the Emm's house, except it face the rails, which were about 20 feet below in the darkness of the night. At first we were all inside and Baldrick was introducing us to some sort of dog/pet thing he had befriended. It ended up getting some tag meaning that, unknown to Blackadder, it would be left in charge on Wednesday (to much humourous consequence). Then we were standing outside and looking over the opposite side of the railway bridge into the darkness. I said something about the troops down below. Edmund and I went for the gag until I said, “startled” at which we all fell about laughing. Going back across to the station Captain Darling said something about, “maybe this time we'll keep to the script.” We all fell about laughing again-

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-

Hawamay

https://home-and-away-soap-opera.fandom.com

Climbing up a huge oil rig structure. Four of us, myself, my two brothers and my father. At first we were inside the structure but as we neared the top we went outside. Now very shaky and insecure structure. Typical external metal stairs with tubular metal handrails. The gaps revealing the height we were at. It felt quite unsafe. Then reached the bit that my father wanted to. It was a small cab. Inside was a dead person. He had been there for 6 years and had not decomposed. He looked like Nick Parrish, the policeman from Home And Away- 

He had a bullet wound on he left side of his chest. My little brother braved the situation and went into the cab and sat the body up as if he was reading a comic. He left a Beano comic to his left too. Like so. I lit a candle outside and went in and looked into his dead eyes. My little brother was waiting outside and the others had gone down a level. I threw the candle in to torch the place. It caught fire. I felt at last that the body would rest in peace. My little brother and I ran down the stairs, catching up with the other two below the cab. We told them to get a move on in case the fire brought the ceiling down on us. I told my father what I'd done as we continued to descend-

Runzle

I am with two or three other, older, (business) men. It seems like we are on a lunch break or something, looking for a place to eat. The discussion seems endless and we're totally undecided and cannot agree. Two of us go off to eat, leaving myself and the final guy to go to a pub. I think it's called 'The Turret' and the outside is painted in a very thick, exceptionally glossy Royal Red paint. I have a sense the place is very “British” (and it unsettles me so). On entering the bar is on our left, beyond a fixed upstand for drinks at which two capped old gents slouch, one on wither side. Straight ahead there is a huge, sturdy bald guy – complete with white t-shirt – drinking. He looks very tough but, despite my concerns, he pays us no attention. We go to the bar and, after some deliberation, I think I order Tomato Soup. I have no recollection of who served us as I am looking away from the bar to the two older guys at the upstand. We sit over to the right and I am looking over my companion's shoulder towards the stocky bald guy. I look up. The pub is small, but very high, almost a double height space,and bright in a cold light. The ceiling, with impressions of the underside of semi-demolished spiral stone stairs to one corner and its' incomplete white paint job – I can see brownish tiles that haven't been covered – suggests an entire floor has been removed at one point-

There is a fresh, young-ish couple at a table just to our right. They are both dressed in Umbro-style tracksuits, mostly white with blue flashes and red piping/stitching. They pull, to my apprehension, their table over and shimmy in their seats next to us. The young woman has centrally parted hair down to her neckline and a plainly pretty, if slightly boy-ish face. The youth is maybe 18 years old with short, shaved hair, longer on top, and tends to address the floor rather than us directly. He says something about “shaped by our immediate environment” - I am so surprised by how articulate he is that I don't quite process what he means. It seems they are commenting on our surroundings and not, though they look it, actually a part of it (in the way the other drinkers seem to be). I am concerned that this analytical attitude will be overheard and will be unwelcome. The woman talks to my companion – who has suddenly turned into an older woman herself – and asks (somewhat awkwardly) about the affect bullying has on people and if she was ever bullied. The bald guy gets up to leave. He is (or is he with?) a girl with long straggly hair. I see her as they leave and they are very similar facially (but younger than I thought and far less intimidating)-

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?

Zammtwo

In Iceland. I am hiring a car. Seems that soon (and by some strange logic) there will be no more cars there as they are all very old and there are no new ones at all. How will they get new cars? I think will they set up a manufacturing plant? This concept really perplexes me. Seems a hired car comes with a basic handwritten note about what's actually wrong with it. Car says you need to wear like cheap plastic safety goggles - on a fabric/elastic band - because it leaks THC(?) when you drive it? There is even a scrawled drawing of the goggles next to a circled “THC”- 

I'm in a small red, rusty and unreliable car with 2 or 3 other people, driving out into the landscape. I'm sitting in the back. Do we stop at a remote place called Filly or Tilly or Dilly or something? Sort of souvenir elastic tie bands with that name on it by a rock. The man and woman with me say these bands are free and urge me to take one. Sort of velcro'd on to each other. I take the top band and put the loop over my mouth and make silly "wooty wip" noises, opening and closing the loop in time as if it were my lips. The couple find this hilarious, especially the woman and so I keep doing it. The woman wants to take a photo and I'm conscious she cannot seem to snap anything satisfying while I have this doubtful feeling inside, certainly, that I'm forgetting how to make the correct amusing noises as well as pretty much going through the motions until a decent picture is taken-

Gopunt

Dutch guy in the supermarket. He had blonde hair which was thinning and a small moustache, quite like one of the local train ticket inspectors(?). I guided him back to some hotel. It was a sort of tall/small box on the corner of a large surrounding square. Quite dull and weird. The dining area was on the ground floor. Went in and sat down to talk with Aye Dubya who was with his girlfriend and two others. I was worried about not ordering anything. Vee Dee and her boyfriend were at another table. He looked terrible. They met at the RIDE and The Charlatans 'Daytripper' concerts. His mum sent him to get to know her. After this I must have been on the run. Got caught and- 

Now back in my little brother's year at school. I was in Mrs Bee's English class. We were getting our lunch in class after which I had to tidy up because I was late or had been the last to find a seat. Seated like so. I went up to the other table (next to mine) to get my lunch. I think that at this point I proclaimed my genius. Mrs Bee was saying something that ended in, “might've/could've been a genius.” In response I roared, “I am a genius!” Pretty startling-

Lunch was mince mixed with big thick bits of carrot and another side of vegetables of cauliflower and carrot. I had about three spoonfuls of mince and one of veg. I went and sat down. Ayy Dubya came in from Mrs Dubya's class. Someone from my table went as a swap in his place. The class wanted my little brother to go. He was walking about our class but didn't go. I was still eating my lunch a short while after when Dee EmmCeeEmm did something to my head. I dispatched him with two punches in the mouth. He was shocked and slightly dazed. Mrs Bee was taking us to the headmaster's office. Along the way Dee EmmCeeEmm, now angry, tried to exact his revenge. Marched outside across to office. At this point Dee tried to jam me in a swing gate (like that you'd find at a farmer's field). I could only shrug my shoulders at Mrs Bee. We were both put on a light plane. Dee had to sit at the front and I sat further back. Like so- 

There were two security guys on board for us. One of them (the one assigned to me) left. The one assigned to Dee was still around until a call came over his walkie-talkie and he too left. Then Pee Gee (the local supermarket baker) came aboard. He seemed to have a grudge against me. He had a metal nameplate which he was threatening me with. He started the plane. Staring at Dee he wandered up the plane (talking as he did so) to me and turned his back to enter the cockpit. Big mistake. He went 'bye-bye' as I toed his head in before he even know what was going on. I ran down and entered the plane cockpit. There was a warning voice saying, “pilot” over and over. Trying to find the brake – now travelling along a motorway in the plane. Eventually found it and the plane screeched across the motorway, passing in front of an oncoming lorry and heading towards some trees. Like so- 

Very frightening as we must have narrowly missed colliding with it. Realising we were going to crash I pelted out of the cockpit into the back as we smashed, plummeted and wellied our way through the trees. We'd escaped. Now a dark night. Lots of lightning. Running through the trees at the side of the motorway. Running at an incredible rate. The weird thing was the other guy (Dee?) and myself seemed to be running back in the direction we'd come. Hid while cars passed- 

Now suddenly being chased through a housing estate. Quite like Stakehill, Largs. Frightening. They had caught the other guy on someone's driveway. I was running about at some yellow stone building. Square pillars. Must have been about 20 men and women all with some sort of grudge against me. They seemed to be a group but tried to catch em one at a time. Kept them off by dodging in and out of the pillars, punching them squarely in the face each time. Something to do with a stone stairway up the building? Two other people then started to fight with each other, leaving me in the background-

Khyoo

nostalgicbeat.wordpress.com

Vintage looking, 70s'-ish TV concert footage (much like The Old Grey Whistle Test). But this seems in my mind to be Jools Holland. Kay Emm and I are watching and discussing this in voiceover. The footage starts with film of Peter Hook, young and bearded, at the drums, the cymbals and stands on either side framing his thoughtful face. This cuts to a guy on percussion. He has quite curly hair, a long nose and wears a somewhat blank expression. He has shakers and such. Bernard Sumner is visible in the background on guitar, mostly seen in full. They begin with quite an eclectic percussive intro, prompting Kay Emm to ask, “what is this?!” I say that it is Joy Division and that she needs to be patient and to wait for the singer.... who it transpires is not quite Ian Curtis, but more of a cross between him and Iggy Pop. His hair is a dark blonde tousled indie mop, and he wears a tight blue t-shirt and denims. In essence it is Ian Curtis, only with more of Iggy's wilder movements and vocal howls and yelps. Certainly less blank and morose. He leaves the stage and proceeds to run frantically around the auditorium-

It seems to be a huge arena and he runs up some stairs at the perimeter, singing and gesticulating. Confronting a fan/reporter their exchange ends with Ian/Iggy (accidentally) punching him in the face – the guy, with his long hair and sandy raincoat, sort of looks into the TV camera in shock, showing off his bloodied lip. Ian Curtis, here looking very much an amiable surf bum facially, seems to momentarily awaken from his musical trance to smile and acknowledge what has happened before just as quickly again surrendering to the thrashing and writhing. He then – to our complete disbelief – takes a short run and jumps, launching himself into the air. He descends slowly, curled up into a neat little ball, arms tucked around his ankles and drifts across the centre of a scene of perfect blackness – he is in a complete empty space, nothing visible around him. Kay Emm and I are flabbergasted (and concerned) as he sails peacefully through this epic void. He then lands quite perfectly near the stage and we realise (as the camera switches) that he has jumped down from a much higher level of the arena, landing near the stage - it seems to sit in the centre of the venue, with a bank of seating climbing steeply up to the left, then over, then back down on the right-

Doffty

Myself, my big brother, my friends Pee Dee and Eee EmmCeeCee in my room over at the window. Pee Dee offered my big brother a joint. He refused. I took it and Pee Dee and I puffed away on one each. I thought it was funny because Pee Dee and I didn't smoke. Meant to ask him. Didn't feel it was affecting me the way it was Pee Dee. Had to smoke quick because we were all about to head up to Cee Bee's house. Scared my brother would tell on me- 

Myself and Enn Bee in a giant comic shop. At first there was no but ourselves and the owner. It soon got very busy. Hoards of stuff. Some painted MARVEL, spine back newsstand edition that only ran for 11 issues. The first giant issue had a bear on the front. It cost about ￡12. There was a toy of this bear character also. Some Avengers stuff. One issue cost ￡11.50. Shocking. So much brilliant stuff but bought nothing as usual-

Xamdam

In a department store in a shopping mall in the United States. The shop has racks of sporty-style jackets on the wall and racks of similar clothing at intervals down the centre of the floor too. Rather than having entrance/exit doors there are two large floor to ceiling openings (on the right hand side facing the back of the shop) into the mall concourse. The concourse flooring is a deep red vinyl, with slight ribbing - presumably to create an anti-slip surface – and a black trim/upstand to the perimeter. The store is quite narrow and I am towards the back end where the hanging clothes and shopfloor racks make moving around quite tight and awkward-

I actually have my old Tanglewood (Fender copy) guitar with me and am wearing it. I have been relegated to here because I have killed two people and the staff keep checking on me, making for awkward crushes amongst the clothes as we try to move around, a fact not helped by my wearing the guitar. I think one of the staff is Tom Hardy and he is constantly warning me off. If at any time I attempt to walk out onto the mall concourse I am approached by two African-American woman, each sporting a similar afro, who gently usher me back inside. They have dark blue shirt and pants uniforms, but I know they are security and not cops. Although it is not plugged in I periodically strum my guitar – just simple chords – and the effect, the gorgeous sustain and bends, sound really amazing (and as if amplified)-

Zulpa

At my Grandpa's. Hundreds of MARVEL hero toys. All related to the Secret Wars comic. The toy of Thing was really badly painted, all over orange. Painted straight over the moving joints and so on. The paint on the face of the toy was almost like a rubber film. I peeled it back to reveal a huge staring eye. When I left I had Hulk and Thing in my pocket. I managed to get Thor too-

Dezzavet

A Thursday. Mt friend Enn Bee and myself are in Forbidden Planet, London, putting up posters, featuring V For Vendetta, for a David Lloyd signing. Much confusion. The signing itself is eventually undertaken by FP's bespectacled general manager, leaving me perplexed. Even then, there are 4 of us now postering, 2 for each floor, and it is the day of the event (now, to my additional consternation, suddenly the Friday). Enn and I make slow progress, the shop walls are more like teaching spaces, covered in giant maps, class timetables and related information. Neil prefers to apply the blu-tac to the wall first, relying on his judgement, then to hang the poster thereafter, slowing things up considerably-

Now up high in the rear stand of a typical stadium structure, attempting to put the posters on a stretched honeycomb style concrete construct. To the sound of resounding screams we see the centre of the pitch begin to slowly sink into itself. I immediately run off, shouting to Enn – stock still, busy texting his wife on his phone? - to follow. Sense I am cycling, or rather out-cycling the disaster, which is happening at my back. This scene becomes more and more abstract, I withdraw from part of the action to an almost computer game vantage point and control-

Monday the fifth of April. I'm there, suddenly on the bus, aware that I have jumped back in time. I overhear someone comment that the world is supposed to end on Thursday. Just as it did. My attention turns to my recently completed comic, a comic that is vivid in my mind, having created it, but lost in my backwards travelling. I check my folders of work, hoping it is there, clinging onto the memories of the piece as I do so - 2 A4 pages, drawn landscape to create an A3 overall. 4 large panels to each (akin to a strip I drew). The priority now is to recreate this work in the time remaining-

I'm then at Hope Street Studios, sitting in the main room with fellow artists Cee Ess and Tee Cee. The furniture has the sense of being huddled together, the room feels smaller, and the layout is puzzling, the atmosphere mildly unsettling. We are talking about who we expect to turn up that evening. I mention it is Tuesday. Cee Ess frowns. “Isn't it Wednesday?” 

Everything blinks black, save a tiny yellow rectangle of light towards the bottom l/h corner of my blanked vision – a mind power cut-

“Oh, I get it. I'm dying. The world is ending.”

I then know my mind is creating the best comfort construct it can, building a jumbled approximation of reality. This small, imperfect means of reassurance in my last moments. “That's right”, Cee Ess replies, explaining there's been some sort of seismic collapse. Tee Cee confirms this in his usual dry manner-

Another short of my mind-

I am staring into the hall of the Studio, conveniently orientated to be straight ahead. A tear, of which I am so acutely aware, sits below my left eye, perfectly formed. Cee Ess is matter-of-factly announcing that nothing will survive. Not Bute. Not Arran. I am aware that no one close is with me and feel abandoned. I shout in desperation for Kay Emm. I shout for my friend Jay Emm, knowing in my mind it's a year since he passed away, but does that matter? I consider shouting for Cee Cee-

Moonive

At the theatre. I think I am with Kay Emm. It is the interval and I am wanting to go to the bathroom (even though it feels like I have just returned). We are seated along the right hand side of the stalls, in seats at a right angle to the stage. The stage itself seems to be on the same level as the floor, a large curtain half-draped across for the break. For some reason I understand (or am told) that I can go to the bathroom via the stage, so I get up and walk over. I think an older woman perhaps told me this but anyway she has the same idea. Len Goodman and his dancing partner are running through some steps. The older lady and I walk over to the right hand corner of the stage and peer down a spiral stairwell. There is a small sign showing this leads to a ladies bathroom (and another for something else). I walk off out into the vast foyer area of the theatre. It seems very confusing in terms of layout and an usher – very much like the bellhop from The Grand Budapest Hotel – brings a stair to my attention. This is a tight stairwell (this time with a square footprint) that disappears into the middle of the floor. I descend- 

www.bbc.co.uk

I am then in a strange sort of rocky area. There seems to be 2 ushers here – is one almost identical to, if not, the chap from up the stairs? - and there is a coin-operated barrier, of the classic 3 rotating metal prongs variety, inset into a rock (at about 2 feet off the ground). The rock here has a slightly slick, damp, deep underground feel. I sort of skip over this small barrier and one of the ushers says it costs 20 pence. I check in the wee watch pocket of my trousers with my finger but have no change. The usher says it is okay and puts in 20p of his own. Unfortunately the machine doesn't register/recognise it and it just falls from the lower slot onto the rock. There are two young guys sort of behind me in the queue and one of them also skips over the rock. The usher collars him and insists he pays 40p, to cover both his and my entry- 

I assume he does as I am now in a vast field where there are lots of guys peeing. The problem is there isn't really much sufficient “cover” to do so with much privacy. As such I walk on through this field, passing a few guys peeing in at scrappy bushes or trees on my way. I pass a slightly rough looking couple who seem to be walking their dog here. I walk towards a large house, facing me. To its rear is a terrace of 3 or 4 other houses, though these properties face away, off to my left. Back to back, though separated by a sort of patch of road, are another 3 or 4 houses, this time facing off to my right. The large house belongs to Chris Evans and he is visible in the garden with his shock of red hair, playing with some children. He is ranting and raving, swearing about the fact it's not acceptable that guys are hanging around and pissing-

www.yellowstonepark.com

I turn away from these houses and head back in the general direction of the stairwell. I pass the woman from the rough couple and she gives me an evil stare. I come to what I think at first is their dog lying on the grass, but what I soon realise is a bear. It snuffles round from its' sleepy position and rises up on its' front legs. It has a nose with a sort of kink in it, giving it the slightly comedic look of an elephant seal. It also fixes me with a intense stare. Is there another bear or just the one? I decide I don't much like the look the bear is giving me and turn to my left, heading quickly towards another house (this sits on its' own) in the distance. I am conscious that the bear is still watching me and quicken my pace. As I head round the back of the house and prepare to climb up the sort of curved, mottled back wall into the garden I am quite aware the bear is up and running and in pursuit-

Vunee

Set in Bankhouse Avenue, Largs. A Mini driving about. Three of us at girl's flat. Good intentions. It was myself, the lead actor from the film Man Bites Dog and someone else. The girl's father turned up. He had a small moustache and slicked hair – Italian. Just went mental. Kicking the three of us in. We got him onto a bed and tied him down with a sheet on top of him- 

He was struggling to get his head out. He began to boot the knot at his left foot free. As we pounded on top to restrain him his watch alarm, set at 10:00, went off. He shouted at us to let him stop the alarm and that he needed to go somewhere. He smartened himself up and left. Mr Man Bites Dog went down the stairs to check he'd gone. A couple of minutes later the other guy left the flat and went down to see also. I suddenly realised and rushed to put down the snib on the front door. Too late! As the snib clicked the father belted in the door. He smacked me one and proceeded to boot my face in. I was screaming for the others to come back and help. Instead of going downstairs they had gone up a flight and waited for the others(?) to go down. I was, while being beaten solidly in the face, utterly terrified-

Waftly

People talking. A woman, pinched face, short hair harks on about a parcel. A man responds indignantly, firmly, incessantly. An older woman (Fawlty Towers, “The Anniversary”?), plump, correct states there is no such parcel, no such street. The woman becomes adamant, angry. Cut to a wide shot. The old woman lies prone on her back, her cheap tights smudged red, the flesh below captured, clawed and bloody. The pinched woman straddles her, the aggressor, shouting. Cut to mid shot. Dark window, both faces inside, looming. The pinched woman throws the elder through it. Cut to close up. The older woman now lies back inside the smashed window(?) her marvellous, extravagant neckwear, a suffusion of spotted diamonds, tinkling in the light, nearer and nearer, laughing - yes, I can hear it - in the brightness-

Encycee

https://www.tripadvisor.co.uk

New York City? On the sidewalk with my friend Vee Dee. Feels like there are another 2 guys with us, but they seem to be several steps ahead. I am looking up at an Inn-style hanging sign above us. It also, somewhat confusingly, looks like a sandwich chalkboard at the same time. On the right hand side of the sign, written in chalk is a message that begins “Thanks for...” and it is from the band Boobs Of Doom. I can see where coloured chalk writing – a menu? - has been rubbed out on the board too, around the edges. This thanks is because they saw my blog. Then there is another note – this time on a sandwich chalkboard on the ground? - about places they like that we should visit. They warn us that they prefer bars that are “rammed” and it mentions things like “Upper East Side” in reference to the 2 or 3 locations. The note concludes with a warning “Try if you dare!” (or somesuch) in relation to a Rum Bar- 

Seems as if this Rum Bar is right next door? Vee Dee and I go/are in it. It has a single angled glass door at either side of a tall and wide central glass window, each door with a long velvet curtain that can be drawn over it. We have come in from the left hand side and are looking at another chalkboard, this time mounted low on an artist's easel. The flooring is simple timber and there is nothing else that I recall in terms of furnishings or staff – I don't think I looked into the bar at any point. It is 'early light', bright, but not sunny and the place has a dusty, ethereal feel. Vee Dee takes some chalk and scribbles at the art on the board. When he finishes I look at the existing illustration – a sort of big-chinned cartoon character with a spiked beard, drawn in single lines – and cannot detect any changes. Did he add a spike to the beard? I ask for the chalk and make as if to draw on the board but do not. Not sure what to do I put the chalk (2 pieces) on the floor under the easel. As we leave, by the right hand side door, I look back and see 3 pieces of chalk – though these are worn and weathered – to the right hand side of the easel. Next to them lies my skateboard, turned on its' back with no wheels or trucks- 

Next door (Boutique store called 'Cult-ure'?). Vee Dee is again standing at a chalkboard making sweeping sketching arcs. He stops this when he sees the staff members (or hears them talking). There are 3 of them and they are all fairly interchangeable, dressed in the classic white tee with washed out denims and slicked back, black hair. Each of them is attending to neatening racks of clothing. Is the item of clothing on a hanger next to the chalkboard a circus ringmaster's red jacket and striped shirt? There are several schoolchildren in smart green blazers with gold flashing – there is a girl with long frizzy blond hair and a long grey woollen skirt who seems to be leading them – and one of the staff is saying that, as they are 14 years old, they are not allowed in the store-

Oodoa

In some superstore. White polythene bags full of comics for sale. I bought a full bag of MARVEL Comics with titles like Iron Man and so on. The other was a bag of 2000AD Monthlies (like 'ABC Trading?') rather than I had previously thought- 

Chased down an utterly massive staircase by a gang- 

About 4 or 5 of us. I was so scared I was leaping over the balustrade to jump great sections of the stairs. Scared due to the steep stairs that I might break an ankle in a fall and get caught- 

I would jump just before a landing to skip it. At the bottom of the stairs I went to the right first. I left my comic bags by mistake. It was totally risky to go to the left to get them before the gang caught up. I just made it. The gang went to the right- 

The leader looked like a fat-faced Tim Booth from the band James. Our side full of trash, all boarded up. They were out at it. Couldn't get through. They talked to us through the giant blue (school-like) railings-

Shabambly

www.gigslutz.co.uk

Somerset House. Babyshambles were playing. It was weird, the band squashed over to the left-hand side of the stage, performing listlessly in front of no definable backdrop, but under the dominating presence of a huge video screen. Peter Doherty invited a girl, dressed as a 2 x life size Stan Laurel, from the crowd and up on to the stage. He was remarkably humorous as she made her way to join him, entertaining the audience even further by exchanging witty banter with her for a good few minutes upon her arrival. I thought of how charming he was off of drugs. They then played 'F*ck Forever'-

tardis.fandom.com/wiki/

Later and the Stan Laurel girl – now out of costume – and myself are in the "Babyvanbles", having been promised a tour of London. The driver of said van seems to be the actor Paul McGann. Peter Doherty seems in good health and spirits and I'm a little taken aback by his looming physical presence, which is intimidating without being threatening. My friend Jay Gee offers everyone some biscuits and I take one before declining, passing it to Paul in the front, the reasoning being I have 6 Empire Biscuits in my bag that I have yet to share-

The architecture we view is astounding, like no London as I recall it; this modern concoction of structures that twist, contort, fan and tower – often all at once! At the end Paul takes to reversing the van backwards into a cross junction, causing some associated traffic chaos-

Franver

Strange sort of Pixar/Zootropolis mash-up. Seem to be inside my/a head, though the interior looks like a converted tower or some sort from the television show George Clarke's Amazing Spaces, all sandy brick, warm timber and a light, bright airy feel. In this circular space three rabbits are running in a circle around a central lightwell. Are they holding hands? Each seems to represent a specific age or time in one's life, and the youngest of these is a female bunny. This causes some confusion if she's inside a male head. One of the rabbits voiced by my friend Jay Dee? At one point we seem to be running away from something and end up in the ear canal. When the head tilts it then somehow reveals the ear on the other side and we can see our pursuer(?) caught in the daylight at the other end- 

At a party at my friend Vee Dee's house. I am talking to his sons. Jay Dee and I especially are having a great laugh – he's howling with laughter at my jokes. We seem to be up on a sort of mezzanine floor, the front door a level below (and out of sight). We discover that “The Somme” has arrived and I proceed to reel off a bunch of unfunny rhyming riffs on this - “The Dong!?”, “The Bong!?”. We pass him on our way out of the house. I have two heavy rucksacks – something tells me one is filled with lots of tangled cables – and we are walking down the street in the dark. Suddenly it's announced we are going for the train and will need to run to catch it. I have no chance with the uncomfortable and heavy bags. The others make it and as I stumble down the steps and on to the platform I see one of them just squeeze in the closing doors. I have no chance and, perhaps expecting the train to wait, am then forced to watch helplessly as it drives off. I have a seething urge to smash something to bits, but opt to flail my hands about feebly, aware that there is CCTV in operation- 

https://www.starwars.com

Star Wars setting. Akin to Cloud City. Aware that this huge construct is perched over the sea. Han Solo and Princess Leia. Some sort of pursuit and escape is being conducted. I understand that to get away we need to reach the very bottom of the city (and then, presumably, the sea). Lots of cautiously edging down tight stairwells with a blaster at the ready. At certain points the walls and doors from these stairs change – instead of the chunky white finish, the surrounds are silver/grey and the glass doors evidently open into Imperial sections of the city. The interiors here are the typical reddish and black colour scheme. The people we are with – I have no idea if I am Han Solo or not in this dream, but it feels less so as it goes on – suggest we go to their home prior to heading to the bottom of the city. We exit a stairwell and it is decided that Leia(?) and myself should wrap ourselves in duvets as a disguise. We do so - though it's less of duvet and more a thick bed throw – wrapping them uptight round our necks and walking out into the crowded open space. I am walking with my fists bunched up tight under my chin to hold the duvet in place. Walking straight through the crowds of people, who often part in puzzlement to let us past. My mother, who is walking nearby(?), suggests if anyone asks that I should talk about how ill I am and what prescriptions and medication I am taking. I respond that they may not be the same as here, worried it could give us away. We pass some shop/boutiques on our left hand side. In one of the great glass windows there is the title of the Queen song 'Who Wants To Live Forever?'. My mother says something like, “it's alright for some...”-

Dundurro

On holiday. Myself, three lassies and someone else. The other guy wore a yellow football-style shirt with the number '76' on the back in black lettering. The three girls were like The Rio Trio(?) or The Dirty Pair (comic characters). Think they were The Rio Trio. They shed their clothes on the beach like mad. One scene me resting on the beach in a deckchair, number '76' sitting nearer the water while the girls played nude with a beachball in the sea. And they didn't care- 

Sonar or solar pulses approaching the earth from the sun. 98 days for computers to figure out a way of stopping them. It was very scary hoping whether they would achieve this or not-

Zellzollo

King Tuts Wah Wah Hut, Glasgow. Entered and greeted by a girl, white t-shirt, shaggy short hair, who took my ticket. Suddenly aware the floor was constructed of elaborate bright lights indicating pathways through the crowd which, to my disappointment, was both huge and seated. It seemed King Tuts was only a "front", and had been landfilled into a vast amphitheatre-

On entry the place was dark, the elaborate lighting suggesting at the size of the enclosure as it streaked here and there, but currently it was daylit, the ground dry, grassy, the seating formed from packed earth built up against a large building to the rear, stopping at the underside of the boarded-up top floor windows. The crowd was very large, stretching this way and that, and justifiably heaving with anticipation-

As I made my way to the front I saw the seating stopped to form a small mosh-pit, an enclosure hemmed in by the amps to the side and ceasing before the tiny stage. I remember thinking not so many people had bothered to turn up just after doors opening (7.30) last time! I ended up sitting as close to the stage as I could, resting my head on a pre-fabricated barrier, akin to the plastic efforts used for roadworks demarkation crossed with a canvas camping chair. This gave me a good view, considering my being short-sighted and having forgotten my glasses-

Peter Hayes of Black Rebel Motorcycle Club arrived on stage shortly thereafter. The mosh-pit had disappeared by this time, and there seemed to be a surplus of stage hands and crew; two big 'dudes' appeared to be acting as both security and the synth player/drummer. Two girls in casual leather with sharp bobs sat on the grass and lamely sang backing (?) as and when required. Peter played the first song on acoustic guitar, but the singing wasn't up to much, the crowd were bored and listless and the picking was more akin to him tuning up. Towards the conclusion of this song I was among a group of people who were now virtually on the stage in what had become a small, dark, intimate setting. As Peter, now visibly bored or stoned himself, finished up the song he sat his guitar face-up on his lap, inviting – to my annoyance – some guy to take over his right-hand duties, allowing him to perform some sort of slide guitar action he had hitherto been mimicking-

At the end of this Peter mumbled that his bandmate Robert Levon Been was playing a song "around the corner", prompting a modest rush to witness this. As I made my way over I became aware that the stage was in fact immense, and that Peter and Robert had chosen to play at opposite corners, preferring cramped conditions and thereby leaving the majority of the (centre) stage curtained off for the moment when the two presumably united- 

When I arrived Robert seemed to be playing directly into the back of a tent pitched in a field, and not facing his supporters. He looked very skinny, in his loose white t-shirt, and had a long, very fine wispy beard on his chin. His song was also inaudible and the gathering crowd seemed to impede his playing even more. I met an old school friend, Pee Dee at this point, and struggled to hear the music over his constant mantra of "f*cking Wednesday", which I deduced my friend Kay Cee had organised as some sort of post-university studies celebration. This continued for the duration of Robert's song-

Returning to my seat I saw a band – of sorts – had taken to Peter's stage. Though, as he indicated, the main players did not seem to have much of a role, deferring to other, generic backing musicians. As they later played a rendition of what sounded like 'Spread Your Love' I went to the toilet, recognising UK underground comics artist Richard Cowdry on the way. The toilets were situated in a long wood-panelled corridor, each w.c. Half-sunk into the wall, a door you could not hope to close flapping hopelessly. I urinated carelessly into what was a very small and awkwardly angled toilet, keenly aware that I did not fancy being caught in the act. As such, I directed my magenta coloured, lumpen piss all over the toilet bowl and surrounding boxing and shelving. I quickly mopped up this mess, realising I must by now be missing the second song-

As I ran back to the stage I passed the comedian Lee Evans, who was using a toilet in the corridor, and I congratulated him on his support act(?), asking him how much of BRMC I'd missed. He noted me but did not reply, and as I continued on my way I could hear what I suspected was the violent snorting of cocaine- 

On my return I met my friend Dee who told me I hadn't missed much. A song called 'Tenerife' had ended in the band fighting, and another song, that they were just finishing up. This took the form of less than interesting feedback, evidenced by the crowd already heading home and murmurings of displeasure at the 7 song set. They played one final number to the exiting droves and I remember thinking of the 2 hour or more set they treated us to on their last visit-

Grizzin

On a Scotrail 1990s train. I am with my mother. We are sitting side by side on the set of seats facing the pair of doors at the rear of a carriage. We are facing against the direction of travel. Across the carriage on my left sits Ayy Arr and a girl. He looks quite youthful. From my point of view only he is really visible and his body hides her - he's sitting a little forward in his seat too. They are facing the direction of travel. He is talking incessantly about drawing for VIZ comic. All I keep hearing is, "Viz... Viz... Viz..." and I am really hoping my mother cannot (over)hear as I am a failed cartoonist. This annoying (mostly) monologue continues for some time before, to my further embarrassment, he switches it up and starts mention his time drawing for The Dandy as well-

My mother takes out a match from her handbag and lights it. She quickly shakes it out as the guard approaches. (The guard appears to be, for some reason, the same Ayy Arr.) My mum puts the extinguished match in the small lip of the carriage window, in plain sight. I can vividly remember a close up of the match, noting that it has the withered shape of a burnt match but that the wood is all crisp and new. Of course the smell of the 'strike' lingers in the air and Ayy Arr asks if we can smell something burning. There is some sort of discussion about a train carriage being on fire? We then take another match and light it, holding it against a sort of plated upstand that is in the middle of the floor. It looks like an armoured armrest, consisting of mostly metal plates but with some fabric (and wiring?) visible. Having held the lit match somewhere near the top of this there follows a debate as to whether it has indeed caught fire or not. I am convinced I can see flickers of flame here and there and that we are in trouble. Ayy Arr evidently agrees as he grabs a fire extinguisher - he takes this from some sort of similar floor bracket/upstand - and proceeds to spray the slowly armoured burning upstand with some sort of gassy substance. As he is doing so it looks like the train has stopped and lots of people are getting on while we are worried there's a fire and they should be getting off? I think I am stuck trying to walk against this oncoming crowd-

Some strange old house. Thin timber floors with holes in them. I remember being in a long, dimly lit room with my little brother. There is a stick of incense with a slight bend before the top and we are worried about leaving it overnight to let it burn down. We decide it will be okay to leave it. I leave the room and narrowly miss falling through a hole in the floor to my left-