I crumple up a leaf, completely dry and dead in my hand, roll it, squeeze it, delight in the crunch it makes, then throw it upwards into the wind. Most of it falls to the ground, but some takes flight on the breeze, the spinning twisting shards free, at the mercy of wherever the breeze decides they should go. I often have watched the leaves dance like dervishes, imagining the invisible partner,...
NWOBHM, the girl, stuff like that
Life’s not dull. Whether bribing train guards, attempting to appreciate culture, talking shop, being responsible, dancing drunk ( again - this is becoming a habit it seems ) at silent discos with my real, live, actual, not quite so secret anymore girlfriend, or mixing NWOBHM legends, it certainly does not suck to be me this week. “We weren’t that drunk.” “No, we...
trains. no planes. no automobiles
I suppose it’s a cliche, a remnant of childhood, the requirement that boys like trains for whatever reason they do. I have always enjoyed travel, and one of the most magical places on earth to me is Paddington station in West London. It’s a magnificent testament to Victorian engineering, constructed from huge arcs of steel and panes of fllthy glass perhaps never having been truly...
I wander around taking pictures of things like some kind of touristic freak I realise, but I like to grab snapshots of life as they happen no matter where I am, and in this case it’s a supermarket sign for the pointless addiction that is foursquare. It’s obvious that the lady is irritated that I am taking a picture of the sign, and I understand enough to know she doesn’t want...