Khyoo

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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- 

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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-

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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-