I do not want one more named illness that would be a sublime act of greed - a selfish huzzah .../
I stopped - I heard the playful howls - the breaktime hollers from a school - but my ear-to-the-past was then frittered by the wind's shift .../
The bastard Surrey countryside was our dawn-to-dusk playground of rust-stained ditches - of new paths set down through welly-trod crops .../
Forty years ago today I knew boys who swapped Tangerine Dream records and others who spat punk ...
That distant town was my playground, at Darley Dene I scuffed my knees, returning, scabbed, to 6, Essex Close, Addlestone, Surrey, England, Earth, and our three storey police house..
Each weekend was a curst return from pitch-black, boot-filled, lifeless ditches, each boy scolded for deep cuts and rips off furrow-tripped meadows. We ranged, untouchable, free, across fallow farmland, never knowing every acre was doomed. The River Addle, our course of choice, went first, piped and diverted. Next came the laying of black lanes for … Continue reading Before
There to see my Father, propped-up in a polished box, one that my eldest brother, chose, on the basis of, what ...