Manchester/Gateshead 3/4/5th November 2009 Part I

Tuesday I stayed in bed until almost ten thirty, something I haven’t done in a long time. I wasn’t well at all and neither was Mary. Just our luck, miles apart and we both get ill so our friends Martin and Ffion looked after Sonny for us and for that we are most grateful. Sonny took his first steps that evening as well, it’s very disappointing to have missed that but I am proud of him, I can’t wait to see him.

I had planned to record some demos and write lyrics but I felt dreadful so I read and wrote letters. That evening Bernie went to Old Trafford to watch Utd play and the rest of us watched Watchmen which I thought was fantastic, different from the book but only a fool could expect otherwise. Mark and Stu then went out drinking and I was left alone. I retired to my room and smoked a joint out of the back window. The window faced a monolithic brick wall over the top of which the Hilton Hotel loomed out from the Manchester mist. Below me crouched an old back alley, blocked at either end by a wooden fence. I smoked and wondered why such drabbery appeals to me, makes me feel contented. I don’t know if it’s the elevated position and it’s not as if I’m not fond of a scene of a more picturesque value.. I flicked the glowing roach into the cold air and watched as it cascaded down towards the alleyway below. The path it traced was so sure, so accurate that it seemed as if an unseen guiding hand ushered it straight into a vent on the side of the building opposite. I froze, expecting at any moment the whole vent to explode and the wall to come crashing down in front of me. I wondered what I was going to tell the fire service and the police and whether I should sweep through the apartment hiding all traces of contraband. I watched the vent for twenty minutes before closing the window, turning out the light and falling into a long, unbroken sleep.

The next day I felt better. My insides were still lurching around but I felt able to get out of the apartment. I met up with my friend Adam Walton and we spent half an hour searching for somewhere to sell us breakfast. We ended up by Piccadilly Station, not the most friendly place in the world and found a bar that served breakfasts. We sat and chatted, he gave me a cheque for some art I had done for him and I put it in my wallet which I placed on the floor next to me as the table was small and it’s kinda too big for my pockets. I only bought the wallet a few weeks ago, I don’t really like them. Same goes for watches.

As I’m talking I slowly become aware of a large red presence that has somehow impinged my personal space. This huge, tiny lady had sat at the next table, facing us and was sucking at some manner of council snout and blowing the resulting smog our way. At first I was annoyed but I started to warm to her when I realised she was content to stare at us with a her mean little big boat and blow smoke in our faces. She really was enormously small, I can’t think of the proper way to describe her. Anyway she got bored after ten minutes and fucked off. I watched her waddle meanly up the road like a Glaswegian raspberry, happy she was gone so I could concentrate on my disgusting breakfast. Disgusting or not we still had to pay for it and when the time came I offered to settle except that my wallet had gone. The raspberry, that miniature giant, had taken it damn her rapacious minces to hell and back. I couldn’t believe it, I felt foolish, sick and annoyed. I really did want to beat her up, roll her into the road so she gets squashed by a bus and then spread the resulting wrinkly jam on the walls of the local old folks home for massive midgets as a warning. Adam was very nice about the whole thing of course, he paid the bill, tried not to giggle and found us a cosy bar where I could drown my sorrows. I cancelled my cards which was easy, all you have to do is listen to the same piece of rotten music for thirty five minutes, then give your details and wait another ten listening to the sound of a tapping keyboard. Ditto for the police.

So predictably I spent the rest of the day drinking, ending up in a curry house with the others and a man named Moff who I know through Twitter and had I’d met up with earlier and had enjoyed spending time with. It’s not the wallet she stole, or the cards or the photographs, receipts, driving license etc She stole another piece of goodwill and that is in short supply these rotten days. She owes me and I will collect.