THE START OF THE ALISTAIR FFITZ DIARIES - as submitted to www.mydeardiary.com


Sat Aug 28, 1999.                                                                                                  Accrington, England.

Thought it was about time for some serious intellectual input into this thing. I don't do sex! (or my cat Crispin, for that matter). We just ponder on the uncertainties of the Universe, scratch our way up through moribund vacuums of inconsequential uttenchap.

 Not much happening in Accrington town centre today, just a cool breeze under the railway bridge that made me think of.........or maybe not.

                                                                                                                                                                                                               

 

 Sun Aug 29, 1999.                                              

 Accrington.

 I was in Accrington Market yesterday. It was sunny, warm. People were milling about aimlessly or buying over-ripe peaches, out of date toothpaste, third-rate reproductions of Van Gogh's 'Sun Flowers' with a tear down the middle. Somehow none of it seemed real, it was like a film set with the lights bearing down, hot, humid, people screeching their bad dialogue, nobody taking responsibility for their lives, it was all written out for them. This could be anywhere in the world. A pigeon fell from the skies in front of me, shot with an air-pistol. “One less pigeon" I thought, and trundled off to the Haworth Art Gallery to look at the Tiffany Glass.

                                                                                                                                                                        

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 Mon Aug 30, 1999.                                                             

 Accrington, England.

 This evening I walked anticlockwise around the Hollingworth Lake, Rochdale. Most people walk anticlockwise around it. If you walk clockwise you get dirty looks - Rochdale is like that, very anti-.  My mate Ziggy Millburn, the composer, is from Rochdale. His 2nd Symphony is distinctly anti- (ants tripping on Lifflic) Have a listen - I think its on Chandos Classics. Anyway, it takes about 30 minutes to walk round it, hills in every direction, a very nice spot. I recommend it if you're in the area. Next time I'm going clockwise all the way. I’ll stare 'em out!

                                                                                                                                         

  

                                             

Wed Sep 1, 1999.

  I met up with Duncan today, a poet of sorts, at the Cafe Splendid in a quirky1880's corner of Accrington across from the library. It's frequented by drag queens, book junkies, trainee florists-an unpredictable mix of the colourful residents of this town. Duncan showed me a poem over coffee and stale donut. It was called 'Prosopography, the Movie’. It made no sense to me. He said meaning was unimportant - poetry should go beyond that. A passing drag queen said "Show tonight boys!" and gave us a flyer. ‘The Accrington Players present "Love in a Doorway"7pm,The Queens Arms’. We decided to go.

 

 Thu Sep 2, 1999.                                                             

 The police raided the transvestite show at the Queen's Arms, Accrington last night. One big screaming tv got her legs wrapped around a young policeman's throat and wouldn't let go. The policeman kept croaking "Cool it dearie, cool it!" Duncan and I left before any arrests. It’ll all appear in the Accrington Gazette, probably written by me. I’ve had quite a few printed, most memorably about a dog trapped on the roof of the Bostic Warehouse - the dog kept rushing up to the edge & stopping just in time. It was barking like crazy as if defending its territory from the people gathered 100 feet below. The Fire Brigade were called out. The dog (later identified as 'Spiky') rushed at the ladder & plummeted into space. This was in 1997.A memorial was set up in Haworth Park. I called the story "Dog In Roof Drama”. I’m just going to write the Queens Arms Raid story now. Accrington is Weird!

 

 

                          

 Sat Sep 4, 1999

It’s been hot in Accrington. Yesterday in the Market, people wandered about in a daze saying "It's too hot!”. One trader with a stall decorated with large white frilly things, kept saying "I dunno what's going on - this is Accrington not Acapulco!" When it's cold it'll be "This is Accrington, not the bleedin' Arctic!" The heat has turned the canal a funny colour; they think it might be blue/green algae - the usual hysterical headlines in the Gazette of course. Dead fish float on the surface; some of the fish are unidentified, either an exotic species or some mutant strain. It smells! People wander about stripped to the waste, advertising their unattractive, pink fleshy bodies - wobble wobble.

 I met up with a friend, Emma, at the Cafe Splendid. Emma’s not my 'girlfriend’, just a friend who's female - this hasn't stopped her trying to get inside my pants (or rather my M&S Y-fronts) but she doesn't get anywhere. I tell her to explore other options, which annoys her. Emma is into UFO's and Alternative Religion/Spiritualism. Accrington is famous for its UFO’s; in fact this whole area of Lancashire is apparently crammed with them. People meet up on the Moors of an evening and stare upwards. Basically, if Venus is anywhere to be seen & some clouds happen to move near it, these people think they're under attack and dive for cover. It’s always a convenient space filler in the Gazette,"UFO Activity High This Week....". Emma calls me a sceptic. I tell her to get her sweaty hand off my leg!