So I bid my mother goodbye and frankly, it was while trying not to laugh or cry as the dismal rain fell on the Caruso warping its way from the graveyard CD player, born on Friday the 13th and died on Friday the thirteenth…and everything means nothing and nowt.

And in the wise tinted retro spectacles I now, grey bearded, must wear, I know, I came adrift like Billy Pilgrim and Jack Kerouac eloping with my selves muttering ‘Rules are for fools’ and ‘I wanna live in a movie’ We say all sorts of embarrassing shite when we’re young and suppressing the shadow of death the best we can in order to hope a little’s lying around in bits like our personalities were..we gather them up and make a collage.

Off I’ve been on the protracted wander that led from the dismal cemetery to Coupars Magic parlour Where he has gathered the many strange and wonderful devices that he uses to perform his sonic wizardry and play several musical instruments with an approach inexplicable and entirely self taught that makes maestros feel like one fingered fuckwits and quit..I will not lie even for love.

I brought some scraps of tunes and hard won verse and he gave me an organ peddle and made a face that meant ‘Let’s get this done while we still can’
and Time has changed me, and so have you.

All of this is true.

The lunatic reunion finished and I walked with a cane and two of my sons down Providence Place, the Poet Isobel followed me with a camera..I have the film as evidence, it was murder and everyone was a suspect and guilty.

We Needed Oliver Jackson who played many instruments with all his fingers but principally Drums and we needed George Boarer who played many other instruments but mostly the bass guitar and sang dark and lived there above a garage in Providence Place like the Fonz..these people sleep in musical instrument cases and cannot and will not quit, they will break your heart as it breaks mine that I cannot write their stories in full which are still being written.. A sketch of them and mine are here heartfelt and factual unflinching. I hope you can feel them.

Firedogs are the flourishes on the brazier blackened iron hard by the heat of the flame and time has changed me and so have you.

The clock is tap- tapping impatient, Tick fucking Tock innit?

Brent 3.06am 13/12/2017 Peacehaven in Albion.