scribbles tagged ‘1984’

goodnight claire

Friday, April 30th, 2010 | tags: ,  |

Sheepishly Claire shuffled toward me.   Years of trying not to impose her pressumed  unwanted presence had refined this shuffle to an art form.  Her 4ft 10inch  plump-Gothness  covered her  painfully polite nature and razor sharp awareness.

I watch my friends re-arrange their stance to make it more difficult for Claire to catch their eye, start a conversation. We’ve all tried, we all know how conversations  with Claire unfold. Last weekend I spent 8 dark hours exploring ways through her sadness.   I’m just the latest in a string of well meaning people trying  to pull her away from believing death is her right choice.   One by one the good souls pull away from her,  to save themselves from drowning in her engulfing sadness.

When she died it made complete sense to me, she was finally free, all the people who cared about her were finally free.   She taught me to respect that choice. Sometimes I see Claire in the street, in a conversation with a friend or stranger.   I remember her fondly.

After Claire’s suicide I moved into her room.

goodnight claire
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There’s a clock on the wall

Monday, November 2nd, 2009 | tags: , , ,  |

and it tells my time

In 1984   I rented the ‘Tea Warehouse’ for the night.   For my time.    I found some friendly DJ’s with large and obliging record (Vinyl albums) collections.   They were prepared to indulge my taste and keen to get better aquainted with some of my gorgeous girl friends, as indeed they did.

I have memories of dancing along the street to the Warehouse at midnight for the start of the party. Dancing between the traffic. I remember kissing the policeman who lured me back to the pavement with the promise of a chance to  wear his helmet.      

The Psychedelic furs sang ‘Heaven’

There’s a clock on the wall
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escape from it all

Monday, September 28th, 2009 | tags: , , , ,  |

My nieces look like they’ve escaped from Bananarama.   Having mislaid their dictionary during the breakout they are now tackling the ravages of teenage boredum.   Dedum.  

Grunting and liberal misuse of the original anglo-saxonisms helps alieviate the condition.   I’m thinking of trying it,   small doses.   But, as yet, I can’t bring myself to part with my 1982 Collins concise.

Banarama sang ‘Robert DeNiro’s waiting’

escape from it all
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where’s wendy?

Monday, September 14th, 2009 | tags: , ,  |

On Holiday!   Out in the country!   Sheep, cows, fields, tractors, all the advantages of rural living.   Anything could happen…

The farmers boys sang in the country

where’s wendy?
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a red car in the fountain

Monday, July 13th, 2009 | tags: , , , ,  |

birmingham art museum-ten-to-oneLiving in windy Birmingham I quickly learned that my umbrella management skills were inadequate. The high turn-over of umbrellas was too burdensome for my student income. I started wearing hats, getting wet.

Walking through fountains.

Specifically the fountain infront of Birmingham museum and art gallery.  A summer night in a fountain, a wonderful temporary innoculation againt the pain of a lost heart. A fountain and The Blue Nile’s album  ‘A walk across the rooftops’ took me to the places I needed to be. When they later released ‘Hats’, naturally I was thrilled by their unknowingly knowing  insight.

a red car in the fountain
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Swans way

Monday, June 8th, 2009 | tags: , , ,  |

1984 involved discovering life outside of the southern 1968 Wimpy housing estate of my youth.   Catching National Express coaches to join  demonstrations  supporting the miners strike.   Being picked-up by the police  on the main streets of Birmingham city centre under suspicion of being a prostitue*.      A friends suicide,  numerous confidences of experiences of rapes.    According to the Birmingham rape crisis centre in 1984 an estimated 1 in 4 women were raped by the time they are 21 years.   There was a fabulous music scene in Birmingham  and it attracted many upcoming artistes from around the cournty  to the smaller venus.   The midlands had soul.    

In Birmingham Swansway played ‘Soul Train’**

(warning: this video  includes Sax)

* girls not accompanied by a men walking  outside after dark,   the only possible justification for this wreckless behaviour was prosititution

** the video ends before the eerie last notes of the song….   I bought their album ‘The Fugitive Kind’ which is exceptional way beyond its recognition.

Swans way
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inappropriate

Monday, April 6th, 2009 | tags: , , ,  |

In 1984 I fell in luuurrrrrrve,   surruptiticously,   with such stealth that I didn’t notice.   For the first six months   I couldn’t understand a word he said with his northern near-Geordie  brogue.   The oscillations of his intonation, arms, facial expressions and dangly earings together told fascianting stories without the need for the precision, or ambiguity, of actual words.   We relied on songs and dancing  to communicate.  During our early courtship he would wrap-up his DJ shifts by  playing this song  for us

Lloyd Cole and the Commotions sang Perfect Skin

inappropriate
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A fabulous day indeed

Friday, March 16th, 2007 | tags: , , , , ,  |

March 15th 1984

It  will take several months to read the varied  scrawl of miss-spelt ramblings in my early diaries.    Mumzie recently  discovered these diaries in a  dark corner of her home.    The diaries stop in 1984 when I switched to letter writing…

A second sheet was added to this  1984 entry during my first year at University.     The day went something like this:  

A morning of contemplating whether  a fascinating but somewhat screwed-up boy  should have the benefit of my influence in his life.    

An  afternoon  sketching portraits of 2 handsome boys while they supplied me with lots of tea.   The tea taking isn’t explicitly mentioned because it is  understood as a part of  the ‘spending an afternoon with a handsome fellow’ process.   The boys  had the afrontary to  keep the sketches.   Sadly,   I don’t actually have copies of any of the portraits I used to produce.   I was fairly prolific with my sketch-book as well as in my diaries.    

The evening involved drinking ‘side cars’ in a disco and  helping a girl-friend disrupt the dancefloor during some of those slow girl-boy cuddling dances by jumping around between the soppy-people.    

A  fabulous day indeed.

A fabulous day indeed
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