a quick story... I went back to the beach at Lynmouth today, for the first time since the accident. I drove down on my own leaving the road map at home, I’m not sure if I did that on purpose or in haste and absent mindedness, maybe hoping to get lost on the way or breakdown perhaps and have to head back home. I never filled up with petrol either, I think that was because my mind was elsewhere. Anyway, I did not get lost and I did not run out of fuel or crash on the M4. I remembered the roads, the exact same ones we took 15 years ago; B roads, country lanes through fields and Launa Doone country. I had never read the book, though you had and that’s why we came. If you had not read that book (during your O-levels? I forget...) then we might have gone somewhere else for the weekend, Bournemouth again, or Norfolk, to my parents. Somewhere familiar, somewhere safe for children.   Even in the rain it all looks the same; the buildings still shabby, the gulls as menacing and large as ever, the waves betray the pull and the undertow. There were children on the beach near the train, I thought for a moment… but of course they would be 15 years too young. I could not see their parents or anyone watching out for them. I wanted to find them and shout at them and give them all the details of everything that can happen, but I didn’t move, I was stuck holding onto the concrete sea wall and felt my vertigo returning. You would laugh if you knew that I now live on the 15th floor of a block of flats. You would tease me that I was focusing upon a single fear over all others thinking that if I could correct that fear then I would somehow overcome all of them.   I do not suffer vertigo in the flat anyway, I have no balcony and little reason to stare downwards out of the window at the rusting play area or recycling bins below. I can look out north or west across the river to docklands, the gherkin, the wheel, canary wharf and into the lives of the next tower along. I miss our garden, though it was barely 10 foot square, it was nice to have somewhere safe outside. There were stinging nettle though, you planted them, actually planted stinging nettles, to encourage butterflies of which we would get one or two each year. Nettles aren’t dangerous are they? You would say that they sting, obviously, but that was all. Is that true? I wasn’t sure if they could be bad for asthma or other allergies, probably they encourage hay-fever.   I suffered vertigo on the sea wall, even when I saw that the absent parents were actually walking around the corner of the cliff path only behind their children it took me a minute or two before I could move. I walked past them, we said afternoon and quickly joked about the weather –‘BBC said sunshine all day of course!’ – before I walked where they had come from trying to mentally calculate how long their field of vision would have been obstructed. There was a fishing boat in the channel, would they have stopped to watch it? Would they have become lost in each other, staring out at the flashing green and red lights thinking which might lie on the south Wales coast? They would have stopped, held each other for warmth and love, out of sight of the kids to share a moment alone, a small moment, a minute, two or three, they would be taken back to when they were younger, first dating maybe, a first walk along the coast, lost in memory, lost in themselves.

thisisalloneword on 16.6.08 14:06 Permalink / comment

Prince Harry is a dangerous prince to know... Sitting on a bar stool next to an attractive and welcomingly over friendly fellow drinker thisisalloneword tries to piece together his actions, the other public houses and bars that must have led him here. He remembers one previous place, down the high street hill, where he had been methodically working his way towards the inevitable inebriation of the approaching eleventh hour. He had crossed the road to go to the cash-point at some point hadn’t he? But it was one of those fake machines which steal your details and give you no money – a fact he knew (or guessed) before using but something kicking inside him propelled him to prove a point. No, wait. That wasn’t a memory, that was what was happening now, right now. Yes, he had left the girl sat on her stool and was going to get money. Right… Walking along the high street, near the church he imagines, a small – comically small, like a mini – car drives past and a strange bloke winds down the window… “Hi thisisalloneword, where you off to? Fancy another drink? Nice to see you again this evening…” Was he drinking with this bloke earlier? Let’s assume so. He tells him the place he was drinking and says that he will meet him there later but that’s easier said than done – geography is not a fixed commodity here, more a by-product of the passing of time, it is impossible to return to anywhere you have been without finding it wildly changed or completely removed even. There is no backwards, only forwards… As an aside here, please note that thisisalloneword experienced time travel again last week and even returning to a point in the past guaranties no continuum – it gets messy and confusing – if you change the past then the future will change, fine, fine, we know this but he has found that if he changes the future then the past changes as well and so cause and effect becomes meaningless. …back to watch our hapless adventurer stumble around, reaching a (I was going to say room but that is not quite right) – reaching a space within his existence, which starts off as an apothecary of sorts, a cross between The Body Shop and a pharmacy, all new age bath salts and incense and he finds himself searching for the ideal relaxant, well nothing comes too close in the shop but the owner notices him and beckons him towards the store room at the back. Inside this room that is not a room, but merely a defined large rectangular area within this existence, they drink whiskey and people wear Brazilian carnival costume. Thisisalloneword finds himself both sitting inside a car and also watching a video of him sitting inside a car – both at the same time. He is involved in some Jackass style shenanigans, about to throw himself out of a moving vehicle for the pleasure of the viewers (friends only, no wide release here). Anyway, who should be driving but Prince Harry, the little scamp, and he’s egging me on to do more and more daring things. Watching the video back in the ‘room’ people say “this is my favourite time you jumped out!”. Thisisalloneword jumps out the car and rolls 3 or 4 times in a ball before trying to stand up and failing, falls again. “Yes! That one was the funniest by far!”

thisisalloneword on 3.9.07 13:31 Permalink / comment

I should be so lucky... ...whereas joe was left drunk and confused on the streets of Angel, unable to think straight, sideways or anywhichway, whereas joe fought with phone boxes, chavs and himself, thisisalloneword recovered in much more comfortable surroundings, the lucky devil... ...I saw him at the bar explaining his predicament to the, and lets be fair here, pretty good looking barmaid. talk talk talk, she listens out of one ear, making all the right noises - yeah? uh huh. oh. mmm - and asking the right questions - another guinness there? Why, that sounds like a good idea, and hey I might try one of those things up there as well. thisisalloneword points up at the top shelf of drinks, towards a small tube of murky looking contents - yeah, one of those whatevertheyare things - those? oh they're tea shots - ok, well one of those then, might wake me up... ...no thanks thisisalloneword, I fully expect a nasty hangover awaits me, you stay where you are, all the same old buddy, old pal... ...shot of tea down the back of the throat - say, what was in that? - cures what ails you, no? - hmmm, not bad, not bad, may I have another, and another pint too, my last one seems to have mysteriously replaced by this empty pint glass... and he turns his head to the left and there is the cutest little blonde and they must have been talking because she is motioning that they retreat upstairs. hey whaddyaknow this is a hotel bar and her room is upstairs and thisisalloneword thinks inforapenny and well that sounds like a good idea to me and up they go, stopping to say goodnight to her aunt and uncle who tomorrow will order takeaway after poo-pooing the hotel menu... and thisisalloneword turns back to the blonde and there is the barmaid standing with her and hullo, this could be nice... ...and that's where I come in, waking up and upon hangover inspection and considering the prospects I try sharpish to fall back asleep... ...here we are, oh! Its morning, everyone sits round the table looking to order food. So, what happened? I'm damned if I know but he looks in better shape than I will find myself upon waking... ...rats. I envy him sometimes.

thisisalloneword on 26.7.07 00:06 Permalink / comment

well wouldn't you? Just a quick one but a few nights back thisisalloneword was dancing to The Grid’s “Swamp Thing” when President Bush turned up. Thisisalloneword called him a very rude word starting with the letter c. Nights later and he is advancing the troops when down the slope pours some bad blood, he backs away, some of his people (are they people? At one point they were DVD’s then they were tanks, then they were piles of cloth) get caught in the blood and he knows that they are lost causes and that nothing can be done. The blood soaks into the leaves of plants, slowly soaking then all through the plant, passing from cell to cell as it spreads. Thisisalloneword says that the leaves of the blood plant make a comfy eiderdown and and and and and…

thisisalloneword on 12.6.07 17:50 Permalink / comment

well, wouldn't you? & Just a quick one but a few nights back thisisalloneword was dancing to The Grid’s “Swamp Thing” when President Bush turned up. Thisisalloneword called him a very rude word starting with the letter c. Nights later and he is advancing the troops when down the slope pours some bad blood, he backs away, some of his people (are they people? At one point they were DVD’s then they were tanks, then they were piles of cloth) get caught in the blood and he knows that they are lost causes and that nothing can be done. The blood soaks into the leaves of plants, slowly soaking then all through the plant, passing from cell to cell as it spreads. Thisisalloneword says that the leaves of the blood plant make a comfy eiderdown and and and and and…

thisisalloneword on 12.6.07 17:49 Permalink / comment

The missing 20 credits Thisisalloneword is at University again, he has found himself with a few more weeks of term left and re is trying to remember where he is with each of his three classes. Let me see; Business Studies… nope, not been to that one since week 2, haven’t done any coursework, automatic fail I guess because of low attendance, ok scratch that one… Maths, hmmm might be able to catch up if I can be bothered to go to the last few classes, I can’t remember what it was we were studying but, well, it’s a long shot but they might let me back and I might pass… English, English, English, no, no, no chance there, not sure I ever even laid eyes on my tutor, never turned up. Damn. What’s a poor lazy student to do? After I woke up that day this dream hit me late that evening and I laughed because I felt like I was in some crappy, lazily written tv show – I realised that the dream was about me still having unresolved issues about falling short of my BA degree by one measly subject – 20 credits short of the magic 360. Should I try to finish? No it is too late to try sadly, the books are closed. Years ago I would have had a shot but I hated Uni so much, and never wanted to set foot in the place again. The worst thing was that I even went to my Graduation thinking that I had got a 2-2 and I only was told out afterwards that there had been a miscalculation somewhere and I would have to do another class to properly pass. Nuts to that, I was on the dole and demoralised and then working and could not afford the money nor the time and was too proud to consider that attheendoftheday it was really all my fault anyhows…

thisisalloneword on 7.6.07 13:04 Permalink / comment

next time on I could be dreaming... The missing 20 credits Rope swing Amalgamation of want Pub with swinging sofa Breaking a curfew Prison Church cupboard Battle Anarchist attack and redemption   Blind fog Art Gallery Bicycling City Road Planning with Charlotte How no to drive through the forest Plummeting down the ravine Back way in to the festival Just a tent

thisisalloneword on 4.6.07 16:34 Permalink / comment

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