CRYSTAL NOODLE:

Where are you as you read this? Sometimes I forget you’re there.
Three walls of glass surround me, to my left a flat blue grey milk
stretches out above the Northern fields. In front, to the East,
sunrise turns the milk Peach & Cream. To my right, it’s already
daylight & serious, needs to get a sense of humour – a towering
backdrop looms above the trees to the South. I slept like an ancient
leviathan last night, deep in a crack at the bottom of the ocean.
Dreamed a throat as sore as bracken. Woke up with a sore throat,
run down with flu knocking on the back door.
Riding the steely twins West into Emerald City, bag packed, hotel
booked, a pocket full of memory sticks to show & tell the world
what artistry & madness has been scratching out here in the fields
through Summer – trains already disrupted by a microbe on the line.

(K)

I’LL TAKE THAT AS A ‘WIN’:

I was too busy, too fast, to enjoy the sun rising low & gold
over the fields sending thick shadows running from it’s pink
& copper light. The fingers danced across the keys, too focused
on another & another thing to stop & eat. Kettle on a loop,
eventually clutching mug in the sun, telephone strapped to
an ear. The customary two hours of worry, lay awake before
the 06:00 alarm leaves me rinsed, nothing left, at the other end
of the day. But today, between the race to get the next thing
& the next thing finished, I had a miniature breakthrough
& tasted success. We don’t measure ‘hits’ ’round here in chart
positions, but if we did today’s entry would be top 5.
It’s the little things now that are massive, the grams not
the megga-grams, the ounces not the tons. So I danced a dance of
happy feet & made a face smile temporarily. Downed tools,
flicking through channels as I drove through the fields to the
shed of dreams. No rush, no stress, window down for a full face
of warm Autumn wind. It takes a light foot on the pedal to go
where I’ve been.

(K)

LAST TEABAG BEFORE THE SUN:

Essex rubs it’s eye’s, dazed beneath a sky of grey milk.
The dirt looks great, ploughed, raked & groomed to perfection.
Hedgerows hold their ground, but leaves are on the turn & falling.
The Walnut tree is still shedding nuts long after I saw none left
& the big apple tree clings to more than half it’s crop.
I’m back at the coalface, tapping on these keys. Trying to finish
a book before the end of October. November is an unknown, though
already it’s got plans & this surreal film my family is living
in continues to roll. It’s like a motorcycle engine that was
running rough, now it’s in pieces on the kitchen table being
cleaned before re-assembling. It’s scattered around the kitchen
getting care & close attention, ready to put together as something
better than the thing it was.

(K)

YOU’RE LATE AGAIN MR. STICKY KEYBOARD:

Sun came up, it was good. Day got better over shared breakfast,
listening. Later, phone calls & typing, typing, typing re-writes
on the book & phone calls. Visitors, tea & conversation, then
typing, typing, typing. Later, it got dark. We drove north to
see a band. It was good.

(K)

THE NEXT RIGHT THING:

Going to bed early. Drained, another day of emotional conflict.
When someone you have loved & protected all their life turns on
you, despises you for looking after them & keeping them safe
from all harm you have no choice but to keep on loving them.

(K)

IN THE ROAD:

It was a Sunday, woke up at 4:00am with a head full of worry.
Went to sleep on a sofa & found silence. Woke in bright sunlight,
showered & did an hour on the book before driving between the
fields. Laughed. You said I looked happy, the hi-point of the
day was seeing you happy too. We drove until a marching band
pulled out in front of us, horns honking, drums in rhythm.
It took me back to when I was 10, marching with the Red Cross
behind the fire engine at the head of the carnival. Man, it was
so cool to be walking in the middle of the road.

(K)

FOLLOWING THE SIGNS:

Picked the last plums from the tree outside the kitchen,
concealed & protected in a cocoon of Autumn leaves.
The walnut tree delivers an endless supply of nuts & this
years apple crop is the biggest for a long time. Rose hips explode
in oranges & red from hedgerows & every weekend we harvest bags
full of Blackberries. What kind of a Winter is coming?

(K)

“47,000 DOGS”:

is all I remember the radio saying this morning, but it made
me grin & I filed it for later. Hit the road early before the
morning mist cleared. The sun, in rabbit-eyed shock looked pale,
imprisoned behind a vale. Took advantage of it’s neutered state,
stared it in the eye & stole another grin.

Listening to the Espen Eriksen Trio

(K)

THE GREAT ESCAPE:

Late last night, too tired to stay up any longer, each day is like
walking a tightrope. It takes concentration, the kind that wrings
you dry. I look back on most days & think,
“What the hell did I do today?”, but recovery from anything serious
is a slow process if you want it done properly. Never saw myself as
the nursing type, but when the buck got passed it stopped with me.
I get up with the 6:30am alarm most mornings, glad to be moving
around fast. Clock on in the studio, record for an hour, then clock
on at the lap-top & work on drafts of the new book. An hour on each,
flipping between the two lifts my spirits as I see results emerge.
Then the household stirs & the questions begin, snatched fragments of
conversations in the cracks between rushing to get to the next place.
Serious stuff to discuss that’s given a flicker of time on the run.
Should be sat on the back step, shooting the breeze, finding solutions
as a team swerving pressure. This morning I ignored the alarm & wish
I hadn’t. The body was talking to me like a teenage duvet diving.
I like getting up with the sun, a mug of black tea in my hand,
walking slow to the sound of birdsong.
There’s a Robin on the gatepost every time I pass. The spirit of my
Granddad come to check us out. He always turns up when it hits the fan
or when I need back-up.

So last night I was too tired to stay up any longer, but I had these
new mixes from Rick &, well, I was curious, pressed PLAY.
An hour later, I’m closing up the studio, not tired, but heading
to bed, grinning.

This morning, by the light of a bright Essex sun, I’m listening to
‘Neon Forest Space’ by Oyvind Torvund & asamisimasa,
it fits my mood perfect.

(K)

TURN ON THE LIGHT:

Last night we sat in the dark watching a film that made us laugh
so much it hurt. And every time we stopped just the sight of each
other’s face made us start again. By bed time we were knackered
from overdosing on laughter & about 10 ton lighter in the soul.
Darkness, stress, depression can’t survive around happiness &
run from the sound of laughter. It’s easy to forget when you think
there’s nothing to get ‘up’ about, but when the shit has really hit
the fan & the weight of the world has me face down, a chuckle at
the absurdity of buying into the bullshit again lights a fuse that
kickstarts a chain reaction. There’s a dose of laughter in the
back pocket this morning.

(K)