Subject: an inquiry into morals Friday 17th July 1998---> Tuesday 28th July 1998.
Hi everyone this is a piece I had scribbled down as notes all the way from
last year. I've started knuckling down to get all these written up now as I
have more time but but getting less of it each day.
Briefly it details : meeting some great people who have become good friends,
the brixton street festival, a concert or two, a little bit of work which
ended in a little accident, meeting up with the guy from Hamilton who is the
main reason I came over here, meeting up with another guy from Hamilton,
hanging with some beautiful french people, stopping a thief (albeit drunk),
getting lost...
here goes :
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written Tuesday 28th July 1998 in room 8 (my place of residence for one
month now, and I love it!)
This is written at 7pm right after Married Without Children and Simpsons !
I need a quiet reflective moment to recount recent events and tell all about
the people I've spent time with (I'll do a big list one day about everyone I
know here with a little description and character assasination etc).
Vis (vietnamese guy from Wellington) lent me his discman for an
indeterminable period and I am listening to The Adventures "Sea Of Love" cd.
One of my top 5-10 albums ever. A very uplifting optimistic singalong.
I'm a bit sad at the moment, a few hours ago I saw Thaedra off to the
airport. She's a 20 year old greek-aussie on a 3 month holiday. The flight
to Greece is 6 hours or so. Today I went to bed at 7am and awoke at 9am. She
came into my room at 11am to wak me as planned. I am expecting her arrival
but still she catches me off guard and I yell out, much to the bemusement of
my 2 male french roommates with whom we spend much of our time grinning
knowingly at each other (about what........I don't know.....)
I cleaned myself up and we hop on the tube. The plan is to catch up with
Irene. Thaedra stayed at the hostel for 1 1/2 weeks. We first met on Friday
17th briefly, she was in the reception office chatting with the people that
look after the place John and Linki (who let me stay here for free and won't
accept any rent until I find a GOOD job). They are from Melbourne and
Johannesburg respectively. They are cool, when I first stayed here in my
first week I was a bit lost and shy so left the comfort and solitude of my
room (which is what it's there for and they called me over to their table
and offered me wine and food.
On that Friday me and Vis were actually rushing off to the Fridge Bar in
Brixton for final drinks with Allee as she heads home the next day. SO I had
just popped my head into reception to check for any messages, said HI and
took the tequila concoction offered to me. Me and Vis headed off but
according to sources we missed Allee by 10 minutes. With spare time we head
to town and I show Vis around Chinatown and Soho. We decide to go into the
"Rocky Horror parti-cipation" screening every Friday. Check out
www.rockhorror.com for what sort of show it is. Basically it is a live show
as well as a movie at the same time. Long time ago some people in the US got
the idea of shouting back snappy replies to lines in the concert, most a
quite rude so I can't repeat them here. And during scenes such as a rain
shower we get sprayed by water pistols etc, and if you did not buy a a
C.U.M. bag (containing a newspaper) you would've got soaked. Near the end
we're damn tired so finally get back at 2am.
Saturday 18th : I head out North East to Walthamstow (location known as
East 17 - geddit ?) A great market is here and I find some great bargains.
I pick up a vomity-splattered shirt for 1 UKP and an italian suit top for 2
UKP which fits like a glove ! Spend hours here and return home latish.
Sunday 19th : Vis, Nicki (aussie girl) and I head off to speakers corner
in Hyde Park. It is a place of free thought and discussion where anyone can
stand on a soapbox, nowadays it is a milk tray and speak about anything.
Annoyingly it is all religious stuff. We traverse Kensignton and Hyde Parks
to reach the conrer. Along the way I drag 'em into the Mariko Mori
exhibition. If you are lucky you would've got a postcard from me with her
image on it. (if you're into kooky creative japanese women).
At the corner I grab a few cool photos. There is a Nation of Islam
contingent here who are becoming more noticeable now and they are a chilling
sight that I don't dare whip out my camera as the speaker is flanked by his
men. Most weird speakers have been here for a long time. A jamaician
condemns the white race for spreading filth and disease. He keeps going on
and on over the same things. ho hum....
An irish girl touches his beads which he shakes every now and then "to shake
off the disease and to drive out the whiteman".
"do not touch your master"
then :
"Mother Theresa was a prostitute"
which draws an angry retort from an indian lady who calms down as she
realises she fell into the trap of taking anything you hear here as a truth.
OTHER SPEAKERS :
a white man talking about sex sex and a little bit more about you-know-what;
black man who is proud to be white;
a christian athiest
"For those who know their faith is a human creation but still love and
practise it".
There are professional hecklers here who provide a little relief.
Back to Irene, she is a german girl who is doing live-in pub work. On
Tuesday she moved in Thaedra's room so I offer to show them round. Nicki was
in the room as well and she finds a flat and we meet at the Walkabout pub
that night. We all head down and have a few drinks. US 3 hit the dancefloor.
I leave for 20 mins as I was supposed to go clubbing with some french people
but once again they're not in the mood.
So I head back to the pub and dance around. I grab a photo of us on the
dancefloor. I regret not taking more photos of people I've met. We head back
and chat for a couple of hours.
Wednesday - this is an actionpacked day, read carefully.....
I offer to take them on a tour of London. We head to the British Museum and
I show them my fave room - the Egypt part and the mummies, Rosetta Stone and
the daughters of Neptune (Nemoids) room - I LOVE IT !! Take a shot here,
along the way we take various rude shots. At one point we make our
prospective ways to the toilet......
Irene has to look for work so after lunch of baked potatoes we walk her to
the agency in the Soho End of Wardour Street. While waiting me and Thaedra
head onto the fire escape and take some shots of the grotty side of Oxford
Street. Expecting to see someone float by holding an umbrella. Irene has a
lead so we decide to head to Harrods and Abbey Road. To get to the nearest
tube BOND STREET we take a route through the Soho Street Market, she does
not follow my suggestion of walking past the cockney fruitsellers to get
harrassed. She wants to see nearby Carnaby Street so after a bit of blissful
walking about with no particular direction (which is something I do and am
overjoyed to find someone with the same carefree abandon).
We find the Street and it is boring and I remember though she relishes in
70s style clothes. We check into BOY LONDON and buy matching finger watches
which some of workmates back home in New Zealand would have possibly seen
now. I prompt the attendent for a plastic rather than plain paper bag to get
a souvenir. We check out the Natural Body Store and sniff the various
face/skin packs of strange combinations like sand yoghurt and banana and it
looks good enough to eat !
We continue on our way to the tube. HHmmm....we find New Bond Street and
my mission now is to take a photo outside Issey Miyake's store. Along the
way as we stroll along this quiet street away from the tourist bustle of the
adjoining Oxford Street we pass all the other big fashion names : Klein,
tiffanys, prada, gucci, YSL etc All are pretty dead quiet except DKNY in
which a lot of japanese are in the cheap (!) cafe out the front of the shop.
We stroll on in in our summer garb replete with jandals and take the
escalators up the three floors and the lift down. Along the way the sales
assistants ignore us totally. We pop into Southebys auctionhouse for a
recent musical catalogue but no go, but we do find piles old old cheap art
auction catalogues which are collectable themselves and absolutely lovely !
We reach the end of the street but no luck with Miyake...Next time
then.....
We stroll through Berkeley Square (I was last here some weeks ago after an
allniter at a niteclub).
[I am currently writing this up on Wed 29th July in the laundrette. 3 weeks
ago I met Myra Shillingford here and she has just walked in right now. She
is about early30s and is from Trinidad and Tobago. Ten Years ago she had a
skiing accident and some years later the damage became apparent. Somehow she
can only take a few steps before her feet move erratically. Looking at her
full of smiles and optimism she is still beautiful despite the illness
taking the toll on her body]
We get on at Green Park Tube and take the Jubilee Line up North to St
JOhns Wood and Abbey Road. Like last time there are a few foreigners holding
up the traffic - naturally. We get a couple of photos, it is round 5pm
rushhour. Last time it was darn near impossible to get a photo exactly in
position like the album cover as it is a busy road. But despite the time we
manage to very spontaneously run into the middle of the road and get perfect
snaps of each other. I need to do the net so head back into town and log on
for an hour but let her do her email first. For fun I do a search on her
(Greek Mythological inspired) name but can only find a Thaedra who is on a
foot fetish homepage !
We need sustenance of the food kind, so she being vegan we come across
the Hare Krishna Restaurant. All you can eat buffet is 4.99 UKP and we are
served a few dollops of veges etc. Well they must add somthing to it cos I
had trouble finishing the first helping let alone getting another one !
Exhausted we head back to the hostel !
I arrive back and am told that Andrew is looking for me ! DOH ! Tonight
Richard H. Kirk (of musical group Cabaret Voltaire fame) is releasing a new
cd, so I quickly freshen up and head to the Garage club in Angel Islington !
The first act is pure deliberate feedback and many people can only take so
much of the loud caterwaul. I've heard it all before but after 30 minutes it
got annoying and samey. RH Kirk came on and basically did the 46 minute set
which is already captured on the free cd we got on entry. It is nice
electronic dancey stuff but still I'VE HEARD IT ALL BEFORE so me Andrew and
old NZ mate Chris are a bit disappointed as we were expecting something
groundbreaking.
Thursday I potter around and don my working clothes and approach some
agencies and pick up some pointers from them for more desirable CV. Irene
manages to secure a great live-in pub job in Stoke Newington in North East
London so she leaves. I head off to the Almeida Theatra again in Angel
Islington to see Marc Almond. Stacks of people there, lots of gays, goths
and weirdly dressed germans. NO tickets are available and there is a long
line of people waiting for returns! AARRGGHH ! All seven nights all sold
out ! I get a bit teary but console myself by getting a programme.
On Friday night everyone is in drinking so I don my new italian suit which
I got for 2 UKP from Walthemstow (east London) and head downtown with RH
Kirk on the discman. I stroll around town for a couple of hours to soak up
the atmosphere.
On Saturday we decide to go solo again so I head to Portobello Markets for
my normal weekend stroll. I bump into Serveline who like most french people
is conned into working hard graft selling pizza near Buckingham Palace. She
has an interesting blood red splotchy birthmark on her face which I can't
stop looking at. She used to live at the hostel but is now flatting with
other frenchpeople. We walk together to brush up on our english and french
respectively.
We see a deal on tshirts. She has a black boyfriend back home so I suggest
she get the LOVE SEE NO COLOUR tshirt which I would've liked for myself for
was XL. It is a remainder of a big anti-racism campaign in 1995. I get a
"Nanette et Boni" tshirt which since this moment I've watched very often and
taken it all over the place and it always gets amused looks. It has a photo
of a rabbit nestled between someone's fluffy pink slippers. In Portobello
there are a lot of tshirt sellers who sell deleted/old promotional tshirts
from theatre and movie etc, so I frequent these stalls a lot.
We bump into my roommates Yannick and Herve a lot who I bump into alot.
Remy a young french bratish-type person is here too. Serveline hasn't been
to Camden Markets yet so I offer to show her round. We spend a few hours
there and watch the canal boats slip through the lock. At the end of the day
we grab some cheap cream doughnuts 4 for a pound. We part ways and I head
back to the hostel.
John has grabbed some pizza so we all dig in. TIme is 10pm so we head to
the pub before 11pm closing time. All 7 of us head down but we lose 3 along
the way. I get back at 11:30pm.
Tonight me and the frenchies are going to Ministry Of Sound as we have
queue-jumping tickets. So me, Amelie, Claire, Audrey and Nicholas head on
the tube southbound to Elephant and Castle.
At 12:30 there is a queue of 200 but we get up front okay but Nicholas'
tshirt is too casual so no go. After much discussion Amelie and Claire
decide to stay so we leave with Danny Rampling's set as our soundtrack. Jon
Marsh of The Beloved is djing as well. Actually while talking to the
bouncers Nicholas is pretty drunk so accidently drops a note on the ground
which a heavy bouncer steps onto it - I decide not to say anything.
We decide to make the most of the night so after waiting ages for a night
bus we head to the centre of nightlife - Leicester Square. Whilst conversing
with some friends and spanish people I spot an english guy very close behind
Audrey. I step back and see her handbag is okay - still zipped up. I step
behind him and watch as he drunkenly reaches for Nicholas' back wallet. He
has a stubbie in one hand.
I'm not sure he would react but I dig my nails into his neck (actually
I've always wanted to do that) and whisper "go" into his ear and he dashes
off. As it was he was pretty junk and an opportunist so my fears of him
glassing me with the stubbie are alleyed. [in my diary entry I have
written: "Hi Vicki and Jase" ;-]
Afterwards I realised I should have taken a photo of him instead ! Anyway
Nicholas goes off with the spaniards - leaving me with the pretty young girl
!-) (very unfrenchlike!) Me and Audrey check into an outdoor cafe. It's all
new to me ! so I grab a valued table outside and she orders some food from
inside. The waitress takes my order of just a cafe late and gives me a funny
look "is that all ?"
It is 2am now. The bill comes to 4.50 UKP and 'begs' for a 10% service
charge so as usual I round up to 7UKP [so that makes it $21 NZ for 2 coffees
and a chocolate cake - a blimin' bargain]. I get rid of my loose change and
it's well worth it seeing the big smile appear on the harrassed waitress'
face. It probably explains why we're able to sit and talk for one hour
without getting booted out or any hints to move on. At the hostel there are
lots of french people who do hospitality work so I appreciate that the pay
is lousy, 2.50-5.00 UKP)
We're joined by a french guy for a while then we decide to head back. Me
and Audrey get back at 4am, on the way she is about to grab some doughnuts
from the 24 hour bagel store 30 seconds from the hostel. But I say "no
worries" as I still had those doughnuts from Camden !
We head downstairs and switch on the telly to catch the VH1 special on
Meatloaf. To my surprise and delight (at being able to write something
interesting for you all back home!) I can only eat one (what a struggle),
but she scoffs the other three and says she loves sweet stuff. I should
mention she is a slim 19 year old french girl who eats like a horse (without
the noise).
Later on Nicholas comes home inebriated. Outside the sun is coming up so I
leave them to it and hit the sack at 5am.
Sunday 26th July
Brixton Street Party !!!
Did mention at some moment in time that in Brixton I saw the bravest man ? A
white south african wearing a springbok jersey !
Yes today was the Brixton Street party/festival. I told Thaedra and others
about it earlier. She had disappeared from the day before. Me and Roland
headed first into town as there was a big islamic meeting in Trafalgar
Square and I thought it would be a sight to see.
It wasn't, just a lot of wide-eyed ranting. We took a photo anyway and
headed into Soho and got a photo trying to replicate Oasis' "What's the
Story Morning Glory" album cover. I dragged him into Brixton with me,
clouds were getting overcast.
We deal readers, this is all from memory and scribbled notes so here goes
: we got to Brixton round 2pm and walked right out of the station to end up
near the car park (not closed) and the community centre. There were stalls
and music playing but not many people at all. I could walk in a straight
line and not have to confront anyone. There was what you would expect from
this neighbourhood, steel drums, black kids with cute makeup on (actually I
wanted to take a photo of them all singing to Spice Girls songs, but their
mothers looked damn mean ! Okay I admit I wanted a shot of their mothers,
young black girls who've taken great care of their appearance and hair)
At one part there is a dj playing a mixture of reggae and plays a song from
long time ago : Sugar Minott's "Good Thing Going", it's a classic I've not
heard in a while and it seems everyone else here agrees as all goes mental
and everyone dances. In the middle of the crowd I spot a really old white
guy maybe in his 70s slightly hunched over with a straw hat on and typical
summery clothes dancing away. I take a photo of him. (Fast forward one year
in August and at the Stoke Newington Festival I see him there leading a
conga line - I have photos)
By 4pm it is getting a bit wet so Roland leaves bored. As I am walking him
part of a way I see some people from Hamilton. There are a few people back
in New Zealand who can be creditted with my decision to come over here. Nusi
and Mike Mitcalfe who regaled me with tales of their exploits on this side
of the world.
But there was one guy who was a morning dj for contact radio in Hamilton
who I bumped into in early January 1998 in Real Groovy Records. It was
Shane. I don't know him that well but we always seemed to find ourselves at
gigs and had mutual friends. We had a discussion over the sale cd racks
about our respective futures. He said he was getting old and would be
turning 28 this year so would be going to London. It was at this point that
it suddenly hit me - I was gonna be 28 this year as well. There was a brief
vision of my life going on without having done what I wanted to do, so I
decided then and there that I would have to strike out in the world on my
own as well.
So there you have it, the first seed of an idea which would bring me here
across the oceans and seas (and continents etc).
Anyway Shane was with his korean girlfriend who I'd met before in other
circles as well as two other girls from Hamilton. We exchanged numbers but
we've not been in touch since but I caught him at the Supergrass and Suede
gigs in May 1999.
By early evening the place was really packed. A band played ska and kept
the crowd pumping. Naturally there was a rap band as well, some people
trying to copy Snoop Dogg, as well as some Bob Marley tracks who got the
crowd more vocal. Looking around it was just a seas of black hands in the
air and I felt safe.
Walking around I recognised someone else from Hamilton. It was Brent Soper
whom I have never talked to before but his reputation precedes him. To those
in Hamilton in the early 90s do you recall when NEXUS magazine was radical
and controversial - a good read ? HE was the guy that wrote those articles
about genital piercing and tantric sex (?). He had (typically) dreadlocks
and a south american/mexican shawl on. I introduced myself and we had a good
old reminisce about things. An old rastafarian comes up and asks for a
light, he's a bit of a jack the lad and tries to sell some marajuana to us.
We don't need it. Across from us I a rastafarian with headgear to holds his
dreads smiles at us. I recognise him from somewhere...no joke, I think he is
in a music video, possibly Bob Marley's "One Love". The rasta with us says
don't deal with him as he is trouble.
He tells me of life in London, living in squats with italian punks and
antifascists who are here also, begging, casual relationships, politics,
what places to go to and what to avoid. He's done well for himself, he's
working for a survey research company now doing accounting or something
highpowered as I vaguely recall. We traded details but naturally we're both
sloppy and ain't contacted each other.
Another moment was when I was moving through the crowd and ended up behind
the dj booth, he turned back at me and said "do you like soca?" I've never
heard of it before (I would soon at the Notting Hill Gate Festival) so said
"no". He smiled and said that I would love it and put some on for me. I
didn't like it.
Eventually as dusk was falling I had the brilliant idea of getting the bus
home. To cut a long story short I took the wrong bus or maybe it had the
wrong destination on the front, I ended up in a dirty backstreet, all shops
were barred up and closed. Here was in a white tshirt, shorts and jandals. I
chose and direction and walked along it, eventually I found a dishevelled
looking street fellow and asked him the nearest tube and he pointed me down
the road.
After ten minutes there were more people about and I felt a bit safer. I
kept on the lookout for a tube sign and then finally I saw it. Liverpool
Station for the first time in all it's glassy glory loomed up ahead of me !
It was great to be able to see it at last and the light reflecting off it
was warming and inviting. So I got home okay, Thaedra did turn up to Brixton
when it was quiet so left, so I told Roland and her that they should've
stayed for a great time. Actually I enjoyed my time by myself, most people
seem to have different interests than me, mine seem to alter all the time.
Sometimes I can spend 10 minutes at a useless stall or run right by it
another time.
Monday rolls round and me and Thaedra decide to visit Irene. Thaedra
herself is leaving for Greece to trace her roots on Tuesday evening, so
tonight she isplanning on cooking us all some pasta.
She needs a haricut so books in at the Vidal Sassoon school for a seven
pound haircut by a student. She takes off early and I stay a little behind
at the hostel for lunch and we plan to catch up later. Just when I almost
out the door the warehouse agency calls with a job. It starts at 5pm that
afternoon to 5am at a milk factory.
It's probably one of my hardest decisions to make but I tell myself that
tonight we'll only just drink and eat anyway. But I am also worried as I
hadn't slept or eaten much that day, so how would I last a twelve hour hard
slog ? Being one for pushing myself (I like to think I have great stamina)
I take the job - also to endear myself to the agency.
The school is off Regent Street near the Embassy-ridden Half Moon Street
and near Berkeley Square which I've walked by before. I get to the school
which I thought would be a bit flashy and snooty but it wasn't. The very
cheery and friendly receptionist tells me to walk on through past the
students and effiminate teachers. It must be a common occurence for friends
or acquaintances of models here to visit. I explain the situation to Thaedra
and we console ourselves with our "special rings" ("WHEEEE!" - this bit is
based on a Simpsons' skit, only my brother would get this one).
At the factory just off White City Station I meet up with Mike from
Melbourne and an indian guy who got roped into the job even though he he had
got himself kitted out and went to the agency for an advertising job. So he
leaves disgruntled after 45 minutes. Not before imparting the address if
Freddie Mercury who he used to live next door to.
I am given a variety of tasks such as stacking, pulling, cleaning out the
machines while I am groaning that I don't think I could do this for twelve
hours straight. My fellow workmates are all cheerful carribean. My final job
in the coolstore is to pull hundreds of trollies of milk that would be made
for all the supermarkets in London. The bottles would get filled with milk
then some machines lid them then stack them into the trolleys which guys on
the other side of a plastic curtain would push them out to me and depending
on the supermarket and bottles sizes I would put them into rows. I relish it
as it'll get me fit. Though three times I injure myself.
The trollies are heavy (say about 200 litres) so to get them moving one has
to build up a momentum. What I did was drag it quickly so that it starts
rolling and if all goes well it would start slowing down before it reached
its proper place in the rows I was creating so I could easily coerce it into
its proper place. What happened was I swung one around and I must have been
really tired because in slow motion I watched as this trolley spun towards
me and as it heads towards my hand which is flush against another trolley I
absentmindedly wonder what sort of impact it will have.
Well now I have a noticeable scar on the top of right hand to show for my
inquisitiveness. When it struck it was (gosh darn) painful, it had hit a big
vein so the back of my hand so it was a mass of blood and a lot of mutilated
skin (strange) mingled with cotton from the glove. what a mess ! It looks
like a firecracker had gone off ther ! shit ! I had a big black bruise
there and ten days later it was still a bit pusey. The other injury came
when I pulled a trolley again and then absentmindedly walked in front of it
while it roared across the floor, sure enough the metal bottom of it struck
the top sensitive part of my heel which of course impeded my walking
immediately and for ten days afterwards I was still limping about in a
fashion. The final negative result of the night was that with all this
pulling and pushing it aggravated my wrists and RSI/OOS ;-) ouch ! Not a
day goes by when I don't look at the scar on my hand and think there must be
some lesson in it somewhere.
The work for the first half was fun and fast moving. Mike has had hardly
any sleep [tidbit : for Christmas he got thrown out at the Bjorn Again
concert of stripping on stage] and he is an epileptic so is quite worried
about pushing himself. We both look a wreck at 3am. I need to intermittantly
go to the toilet to rid myself of something disagreable. Mike really feel he
needs to go, so I say it's OK.
So from 3:30am-6am I am the only one pulling the trollies. And still they
keep coming. It piles up pretty badly and the guys on the other side are
getting annoyed until they come out and see it is only me there doing a
three men job. After thirteen hours inside a giant coolstore I'm finished.
The rough jackets they gave us have left my skin feeling sensitive. I walk
out into the morning sun pleased with the nights work.
As I pass the station a dairy or caterer has thrown out yesterday hard
bread so there are thirty pigeons helping themselves. It makes a funny
sight. As you know they normally peck the bread or lift it into the air for
it to break up, so try to imagine thirty pigeons doing just that ! The place
is just flying with pieces of breads and crumbs are getting caught up by the
breeze and going everywhere. Plus imagine the clacker of beaks on the
pavement.
I get back to the hostel and meet up with the morning workers heading out
for the day. I read a bit and hit the sack at 7am.
At 10am as planned, Thaedra wakes me up and we head North East to Stoke
Newington. As you can guess we make a great travelling couple as we
blissfully end up walking for one hour quoting and quizzing each other from
the Young Ones and BlackAdder. With a generous dollop of the call-response
of "rah rah rah we're going to smash the oinks!" and "you dancing?" "you
asking ?" etc etc (If you don't get that you never will ;-)
Speaking of classic british comedy, last week I missed out the Dad's Army
reunion, only three remain, if you know your stuff you'll know who they are.
It is my favourite british comedy, even above Fawlty, Black Adder, Reginald
Perrin etc
As we reach the Rose And Crown pub Irene is overjoyed to see us. Her South
African workmate is Jacko and it's funny to hear her say his name in a cute
german accent - "yacko". We sink some pints and food and then head back home
not before getting some snaps.
Me and Thaedra tearily [I wrote this way back then but don't recall it
being so] hug and part ways. This brings me to 7pm Tuesday 28th July when I
started writing this entry. Today it is Monday 10th August. Two days ago I
think summer commenced with a sweltering heat and humidity. I am sitting on
the steps of the hostel out back looking into the private carpark used by
the shops and supermarket next door. A man is rummaging thru the rubbish
like I do and fishes out a ministereo system and cd holder. Doh ! I couldn't
done with that. Me and John were talking to getting a holder just today.
Being outside it is quite safe today. Sometimes the next door council flat
inhabitants throw bottles and cans down. And I've heard once there were
syringes. One day an old lady who is on the bottom flat of the block came to
ask us to help sign a petition to get some nastier residents evicted.
The hostel has two storeys, and the flats are twelve high and normally
cast a dark shadow on us. But right now as I look up, the skin on my face
and arms welcomes the sun.
I smile inanely.
Life is looking peachy keen again.......