Tag Archive

Easter 1992

Jay and Matt came around to see if I wanted to join them going out for a drive. Naively, I said yes. Matt’s former school friend Nick was waiting in the car. We called back at Matt’s where dumbbells were silently loaded into the boot. The weights were taken off under cover of the raised boot door, and the bars tested for heft in hand. Strange. I sat in the back next to Nick and we headed off, bound for Huyton. Equally strange. Not somewhere we’d gone before, nor anywhere nearby.

August 1990

As Emilio and I walked along the exit tunnel from Sol station a man coming in the other direction approached us. He had scorched skin, a black mullet and a short square face which looked like it had been put in a vice. His white vest had seen much better days. He asked the time, and as Emilio lifted his arm to look at his watch the man’s hand darted into his unprotected pocket and grabbed his wallet. I froze, surprise multiplied by cowardice. Emilio caught hold of the man’s hand on its way out, but before a tug of war could develop the assailant was suddenly pinned against the wall by a passerby. The passerby then pulled the mulleteer’s arm out and simultaneously twisted it wrist-upwards, revealing the track marks and exclaiming almost triumphantly “Drogadicto!”.

October 2006 then January 2026

When playing in Brody & Quint with Rosemary and Anna, we gigged regularly in London and from time to time would do a small tour of the North playing at venues in Manchester, Bolton, Sheffield and Leeds.

Late 1990s, January 2002

By rights The Argyll Arms should be a terrible pub, situated as it is so close to Oxford Circus. But it defies expectations, especially if you can get a seat in one of the dimly lit, serene snugs. Cocooned by etched glass partitions, you can find respite from the scrum.

September 1993, July 1994

He had a stout frame, long straight black hair, and a round and warm face – a cross between Zed from Police Academy and Argyle from Stranger Things.

January 1996, January 2025

Not long ago we went to walk the alpacas at Botany Bay farm on the edge of London. A charming experience with a passionate farmhand and photogenic animals.

1982 to 1987

Growing up by the Mersey in the 1980s, I used to hear the old air raid sirens being put through their weekly paces. I think the nearest one was at Garston docks. Along with ship foghorns, it’s one of the sounds of my youth. The tests carried on until the end of the Cold War.

A few weeks in 1990

The plague started with whole sentences said sarcastically, a superficially positive statement turned mordantly into a negative. “Oh yeh, I’d love to do that”.

Early 1980s

In junior school the class had collective recorder lessons, each of us equipped with a black and white Yamaha descant recorder. What I recall most is that I liked playing F#.

December 1991

I’m leaving aside jazz here.

February 2026

2.30 am on a school night. It’s been a while.

January 2026

First I wanted to know whether I could run in -20C. Then if so, I wanted to know what it felt like.

August 1990

As Emilio and I walked along the exit tunnel from Sol station a man coming in the other direction approached us. He had scorched skin, a black mullet and a short square face which looked like it had been put in a vice. His white vest had seen much better days. He asked the time, and as Emilio lifted his arm to look at his watch the man’s hand darted into his unprotected pocket and grabbed his wallet. I froze, surprise multiplied by cowardice. Emilio caught hold of the man’s hand on its way out, but before a tug of war could develop the assailant was suddenly pinned against the wall by a passerby. The passerby then pulled the mulleteer’s arm out and simultaneously twisted it wrist-upwards, revealing the track marks and exclaiming almost triumphantly “Drogadicto!”.

October 2006 then January 2026

When playing in Brody & Quint with Rosemary and Anna, we gigged regularly in London and from time to time would do a small tour of the North playing at venues in Manchester, Bolton, Sheffield and Leeds.

August 2025, April 2026

I was not prepared for the intense heat of Tokyo in August. It sees your jetlag as you step out of the airpot, doubles it, and laughs at your disorientation all the way to the train station where you will get lost just trying to find the exit. So it is undoubtedly apt that Japan recently unveiled the new word kokushobi for days that reach 40C or above, based on the word koku meaning harsh or cruel. “Cruelly hot weather” suggests an animus, a vindictiveness, a weather that has got personal.

January 1996, January 2025

Not long ago we went to walk the alpacas at Botany Bay farm on the edge of London. A charming experience with a passionate farmhand and photogenic animals.

1982 to 1987

Growing up by the Mersey in the 1980s, I used to hear the old air raid sirens being put through their weekly paces. I think the nearest one was at Garston docks. Along with ship foghorns, it’s one of the sounds of my youth. The tests carried on until the end of the Cold War.

January 2026

January 2026

First I wanted to know whether I could run in -20C. Then if so, I wanted to know what it felt like.

January 2026

The sun coming up over the model boating pond, Hampstead Heath, on an early morning run into work.

One day, I hope, I will figure this out without it becoming a burden.

August 1990

As Emilio and I walked along the exit tunnel from Sol station a man coming in the other direction approached us. He had scorched skin, a black mullet and a short square face which looked like it had been put in a vice. His white vest had seen much better days. He asked the time, and as Emilio lifted his arm to look at his watch the man’s hand darted into his unprotected pocket and grabbed his wallet. I froze, surprise multiplied by cowardice. Emilio caught hold of the man’s hand on its way out, but before a tug of war could develop the assailant was suddenly pinned against the wall by a passerby. The passerby then pulled the mulleteer’s arm out and simultaneously twisted it wrist-upwards, revealing the track marks and exclaiming almost triumphantly “Drogadicto!”.

August 2025, April 2026

I was not prepared for the intense heat of Tokyo in August. It sees your jetlag as you step out of the airpot, doubles it, and laughs at your disorientation all the way to the train station where you will get lost just trying to find the exit. So it is undoubtedly apt that Japan recently unveiled the new word kokushobi for days that reach 40C or above, based on the word koku meaning harsh or cruel. “Cruelly hot weather” suggests an animus, a vindictiveness, a weather that has got personal.

2025 to 2026

The Tale of Genji seriously tested the extent to which I would finish a book which I have started. I generally follow that principle when it comes to fiction, if not non-fiction. I can’t say I enjoyed the first thirty or so chapters charting Genji’s countless seductions, and I was very close to giving up. However, the reputation and extraordinary background of this work – of which I was embarrassingly ignorant – kept me going. Almost duty-bound. Along with some judicious research along the lines of: does The Tale of Genji get better? Which it definitively does.

January 1996, January 2025

Not long ago we went to walk the alpacas at Botany Bay farm on the edge of London. A charming experience with a passionate farmhand and photogenic animals.

Is this the greatest line in One Battle After Another?

A few weeks in 1990

The plague started with whole sentences said sarcastically, a superficially positive statement turned mordantly into a negative. “Oh yeh, I’d love to do that”.

In Mishima’s The Temple of the Golden Pavilion, the protagonist Mizoguchi has a stutter. At one point, it is suggested that stutterers speak more fluently in a second language.

August 1990

As Emilio and I walked along the exit tunnel from Sol station a man coming in the other direction approached us. He had scorched skin, a black mullet and a short square face which looked like it had been put in a vice. His white vest had seen much better days. He asked the time, and as Emilio lifted his arm to look at his watch the man’s hand darted into his unprotected pocket and grabbed his wallet. I froze, surprise multiplied by cowardice. Emilio caught hold of the man’s hand on its way out, but before a tug of war could develop the assailant was suddenly pinned against the wall by a passerby. The passerby then pulled the mulleteer’s arm out and simultaneously twisted it wrist-upwards, revealing the track marks and exclaiming almost triumphantly “Drogadicto!”.

October 2006 then January 2026

When playing in Brody & Quint with Rosemary and Anna, we gigged regularly in London and from time to time would do a small tour of the North playing at venues in Manchester, Bolton, Sheffield and Leeds.

September 1993, July 1994

He had a stout frame, long straight black hair, and a round and warm face – a cross between Zed from Police Academy and Argyle from Stranger Things.

Early 1980s

In junior school the class had collective recorder lessons, each of us equipped with a black and white Yamaha descant recorder. What I recall most is that I liked playing F#.

December 1991

I’m leaving aside jazz here.

January 2026

First I wanted to know whether I could run in -20C. Then if so, I wanted to know what it felt like.

January 2026

The sun coming up over the model boating pond, Hampstead Heath, on an early morning run into work.

2025 to 2026

The Tale of Genji seriously tested the extent to which I would finish a book which I have started. I generally follow that principle when it comes to fiction, if not non-fiction. I can’t say I enjoyed the first thirty or so chapters charting Genji’s countless seductions, and I was very close to giving up. However, the reputation and extraordinary background of this work – of which I was embarrassingly ignorant – kept me going. Almost duty-bound. Along with some judicious research along the lines of: does The Tale of Genji get better? Which it definitively does.

In Mishima’s The Temple of the Golden Pavilion, the protagonist Mizoguchi has a stutter. At one point, it is suggested that stutterers speak more fluently in a second language.

January 2026