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-

Siosa

https://www.chroniclelive.co.uk

First of all it was as if I was listening to the new Oasis album. The first two tracks were singles and when I reached the fourth, which was brilliant, and it finished things went all weird. Sort of Oasis as kids like The Red Hand Gang, solving crimes. Can remember thinking about how this would sound on the album. All this dialogue. Sort of an exciting concept album. Anyways, we were chasing two guys through this house. We split into groups. Myself and Liam Gallagher were scouting around inside rooms for one of the guys, and ugly British Asian bloke-

We sussed both characters had escaped through a window into an attached neighbour's house. Preparing to follow. Lots of small, inset windows. Red roof tiles and white walls. About to climb out after them-

Tarntle

https://www.tripadvisor.co.uk

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-

Reffidin

At the seaside(?) and a group of us are gathered around a large-ish rockpool. It's hard to ascertain whether we are adults or much younger... The rockpool itself is not sunken - we are not looking down into it - but raised up and we peer over the edge like a zoo exhibit. There is a bearded man with us and he is some sort of hunter gatherer type, reaching and splashing into the pool to display the sealife. He pulls out some sort of eel and chews at its head, eventually biting it clean off, holding the limp body in his clenched fist. There are dozens of small octopi visible huddled around the edge of the pool just under the surface. The are not quite representative of the actual species, having bulbous heads with two blank eyes staring straight ahead. Their flesh is pasty as a per a cooked prawn, with the typical pinkish colouring in at the joints. Their legs, in as much as they are visible, are tucked tightly in to sit under their round heads. I mention these to the hunter and he says they are edible, yes, but not worth bothering with- 

https://www.greatbritishchefs.com

Suddenly down the pier(?) to the right from the rockpool there is an immense struggle and a huge langoustine-esque creature batters down onto its back on the timber. I'm guessing its been wrestled from the sea by the hunter. This deep green beast has huge plates of overlapping shell all along its body, it's head/face more reminiscent of a crab, protected as it is by the shell. It seems to rear up and look at us in a curious manner and-