thanks

can i?

probably

how do u know you couldn’t cope with an alsation in Ditchling in real life?

was it Jeff Wright?

sorry jeff/geoff if u are reading – i very much doubt you are. i am sorry if you are fat with glasses and enjoy poking sticks through people’s letterboxes! but i bet you aren’t – sounds like excellent fun though, if you are. here is a dream i had featuring dogs and letterboxes:

POSTMEN IN DARKENED HOUSES
On the council estate, I post mail through an aluminium letterbox. I physically sense the sound made when the paper and my hand graze the surface; a mild déjà vu, layered with a thousand lost memories of the same creak and clatter. An echo from the houses opposite reinforces this soft madness like a barking dog. I am with Sara – we are acting as postmen. The door slowly opens. We go inside the house. The curtains are drawn. There’s a dim light in the rooms. They have a yellowy-brown quality. Light comes in from the outside, through the curtains like it’s early morning, giving the rooms a characteristically warm and latent feel. The carpets, curtains and furniture all seem to be from the 70s. The dwellers must be out. It’s empty. I’m relaxed but also feel a little nervy. I use a spacious room to kick a scrunched up piece of newspaper like a football. I leave. I look at the other houses and then back at the house in which I have just been. I am surprised to see the owner was in and that they are now leaving and about to lock the door. I slowly realise Sarah’s still in there and will be locked in and trapped, so then rush forward and struggle with the owner to keep the door-latch open. They think I might be attacking them but I need to save my friend, so I continue to fight, remembering the time I had to escape from the fascists.
ESCAPING FROM FASCISTS
Imagine how it was…Let me set the scene…I’m in an upstairs room of a large building and I watch John, the man with a moustache, interrogate someone who has double-crossed him and his colleagues. They were trying to pin evidence on him – I then I realised why I was in the room. They were trying to expose the pair of us as anti-fascists. They’re capable of really hurting people you know; really fucking them up. These people are like fucked-up miserable animals. Then, the leader of the group fishes out some receipts and notes from my back pocket. The moustached man reads aloud some of the notes to the others but doesn’t read any of the stuff that I am worried they will see (the things that would make me guilty in their eyes) – but instead, he holds the incriminating evidence up over his shoulder. (I wasn’t sure if this was for me to see or just for the mob). Then, I see an open door and decide to make a run for it. It was my chance to get away. I sped away down the corridor, chased by the one with longish hair. The others followed. I rounded a corner and then I‘m at the top of some shallow but deep wooden stairs. I dive down (a long jump) and land on my side, ‘Ow fuck!’ (I was prepared to break bones to get away)
I thought I was going to be caught but then, I made a gap between myself and my pursuers.
HIDING IN A PUDDLE INSIDE A BIRCH TREE
I continued to run past some houses and through some back gardens; shaded by trees, where I was more hidden. I looked back and could no longer see anyone following. I decided to hide in a silver-birch tree. I stood inside its trunk and knew I couldn’t be seen. I smelled mould and webs. I had bits in my eyes. It was like wearing the invisibility cloak from a Harry Potter film. My feet were wet. I stood in a puddle or some sort of stream. I wasn’t bothered by this; not if it was to save my life. I could now watch for the mob. They didn’t come. Some young lovers walked by. They walked close but couldn’t see me, even when they were staring straight at me. This must be what fungus feels like.
THE DJ POLICE-CONSTABLE GIVING ADVICE ABOUT EMERGENCY MOBILE PHONES
When I felt it was safe, I left the protection of the tree. I walked warily out onto the main street. It was King Street. I was talking to a police-constable who was also a DJ. He looked a bit of a hippy and had metal toe-capped work boots on, which were old and tatty – maybe wet too. He was sat down and was telling me to get an emergency mobile phone. If I got one of these, when I was being chased, I could press a button and global-positioning-system would alert the police, and helicopters would arrive. I considered this and was agreeing with him, whilst thinking you are really interested in catching the criminals rather than saving the victims and I could not make my mind up whether this was good or bad.
THE SUPER-COOL SHARP BONNETED SURF POSSE
After my meeting with the constable, I saw Matthew Scott, who I grew up in my teenage years with. We walked together towards the market square. It was now dusk. Jason and Daniel Relf, also old school acquaintances (and sons of Keith from The Yardbirds), pulled up in a low-rider car, alongside a van, outside the Ritz Cinema. The vehicles were brimming with coolness. The car stood out with its matt-red paint and its sharp triangular form. ‘Rumble’ by Link Wray was playing from inside. The Relfs were coming back from a gig, party or a holiday or something. I didn’t get to speak to them though, as they stayed in their vehicles.
UNDER THE THREAT OF AN AFGHAN NUCLEAR ATTACK?
I was then at the top of King Street heading home with my friend. The sky was darkening. I looked over in the direction of my house and I saw what appeared to be a shooting star. It was making a crackling sound, like a firework. It moved through the sky toward me. As it did this, I remembered I no longer lived at home. This is like waking up and remembering bad news; like learning and experiencing bad shit again for the first time. As if someone has died and you forget in your sleep but the next morning, although you don’t remember when you first open your eyes, it slowly dawns on you – they really are gone forever. My family are somewhere else. Either they have left me or I have left them – I can’t remember which – one day it might come back to me; like the memories sometimes do. The star – yeah – lonely…it then became a plane. It was enormous in the sky – too close to the ground. I said to Mat, ‘Look, I think it might crash!’ At that point, it turned more into the shape of the USS Enterprise but it was greyer – like the colour of lead. Sparks were emanating from the bottom. I wanted it to crash just because that would have been exciting to watch. I couldn’t believe anyone was in it because It moved as if it were a cardboard model on fishing wire – all very 1930s Flash Gordon and the planet Mongo. We questioned whether or not it was a nuclear weapon from Iraq or Afghanistan. I said, ‘We are fucked if it is!’ It curved off through the sky and I realised the world had changed and England had entered into a new apocalyptic era.

lol

ju

xxx