Sunday, 23 April 2017

Whoever you Vote for, the Government always Wins.

Madrid/March

Are you voting?

They won’t let me.

You’ve got an electoral card.

I know, I will turn up just to make a statement, but the Mayor will say ‘sorry, you can’t”, like last time.

At least he apologises. Who’s going to win?

It will be either the crook or the guy who sold the airport to the Chinese.

That’s a prediction! Cool, we can check it and, hey… do you want a bet of a see?*
*a bet of a see, winner gets to go SEE!

Certainly. Who are you predicting?

I’m not.

But I can still go SEE!

If you are right.

I will be.

Thursday, 20 April 2017

A Sudden Collision of Chocolate.

Madrid/March 2017


Do you think if we sat here long enough we would get the book finished?

I’d imagine I would have to go inside at some point and rummage through some of that chocolate.

Rummage?

Scrumage perhaps, then I would probably have to either sit at the piano and try to play some jazz, or pluck at the double bass and pretend.

Scrumage?

Two Ms perhaps?

Like rugby?

A collision of chocolate.

What have you eaten so far?

In fact, just a small tangerine and a glass of water.

Spartan.

More like cricket.

Do you think writing can be compared to sport?

I thought I was comparing eating.

Fair enough. How is the book going by the way?

It’s waiting.

For?

I’m not sure, a place like this, a day like this, a table…

Does the table begat the word or does the word begat the table.

You need a table. The blossom helps.

What blossom?

That which is falling on the keyboard.

Looks like Jasmine.

There’s another table over there, facing west.

This one faces south, it has blossom and there’s sand on the floor.

Reminds me of The Beach Boys.

We spoke of them last night. There was talk of whether you could trace the evolution of their emergence or if their sound was fully formed from nothing.

Is that possible?

All art is, but at the same time all art is not.


Art is Art.

Tuesday, 18 April 2017

Double Bass Buddhists.

London/Saturday


This place is cool.

It’s Buddhist.

Really?

Yes, look.

A shrine.

They’re too.

Two shrines?

Very Buddhist.

There’s a double bass as well.

Double Bass Buddhists.

Who like Springsteen.

This is my kind of place.

And look at this table!

It’s perfect; listen to that bird.

Can you see it?

It must be in that tree.

Or is it the tree itself that sings.

A double bass Buddhist tree?

The sky is so blue, there’s sun on the cherry blossom and this statue looks real.

It’s polystyrene.

No! It can’t be!

The double bassist used to work props at the BBC; he’s an architect now.

Did he do the house?

Yep.

It’s brilliant.

The wooden floor!

The one I fell down this morning… wait… what’s that?

A seagull?

How far is the sea?

The capital is closer.’




Monday, 17 April 2017

A Dog called Sainsburys.

London Town/Saturday


Hang on a minute - I’m a bit confused – where exactly are we? Madrid? England?

Right this minute we’re by Sainsbury’s, look.

It’s open.

We don’t need any more chocolate.

It’s Easter.

We should be in Church, not Sainsbury’s buying chocolate.

That Lindt Orange Chocolate that we bought for your brother was really nice.

I don’t have a brother.

That’s strange. Who did we buy it for then?

Your’s?

Do I have a brother?

Why not? On this blog you can have a brother if you want. You can have three.

Cool.

You can have a dog if you want.

What’s the dog’s name?

Your choice.

Sainsburys?

Ok. Then when we say, we’re by Sainsburys that can mean we’re out walking the dog.


Or that the dog is walking us.

Sunday, 16 April 2017

Weird Weed.

London/pile of clothes/yesterday


What’s that smell?

Weed.

Where are we?

I think you can call it a courtyard.

Not a car park then?

Well, there’s a car over there, but that’s probably a football-netball court.

So why can I smell weed?

That will be those guys, over there graffiti-ing.

What are we doing here?

Waiting.

What for?

The photo shoot to finish.

We’re on a photo shoot?

We are.


It’s a cool tower.

Are you in the photos?

Not really.

Am i?

Non-plus.

There’s that non-plus again.

I’m feeling French.

Why?

Because I’m in England – I always feel more French in England.

But you’re English.

I feel more English in France.

You’re weird.

You’re weirder.           



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