The End Of The Line?

don't tell me that it's over....

Staff & Customers Thoughts On Our Shows

Well, thats what her leaflet says......

Yes?...Can I help you?

When You Were Young

You sit there in your heartache
Waiting on some beautiful boy to
To save you from your old ways
You play forgiveness
Watch it now
Here he comes
He doesnt look a thing like Jesus
But he talks like a gentleman
Like you imagined
When you were young

Can we climb this mountain
I dont know
Higher now than ever before
I know we can make it if we take it slow
Let's take it easy
Easy now
Watch it go

We're burning down the highway skyline
On the back of a hurricane
That started turning
When you were young
When you were young

And sometimes you close your eyes
And see the place where you used to live
When you were young

Dark ............................

Tri - Nation

Memories of Mum

The clop of heels
on damp paving stones
reminded me of Sunday walks to church
with mother.

My stiff tweedy
Child’s suit
her luxuriant fake fur
adorned with broach and pin

protection against the Ayrshire wind
So cold.

The phonecall

American Beauty

Waiting

At Hammersmith 20 November

Autumn Gold - In Wandsworth

Battersea Reach on a November evening

Lest We Forget - Remembrance Day - 2006.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.At the going down of the sun and in the morningWe will remember them.

Phillip & Ria

Tennis players in St George's Park

Castaway

It is 2am
Central European Time

I cannot sleep
for Spanish island heat.

Fire flies dance their dance
of death
around my night light.

I nibble olives
and sip medium white
the contrasting tastes, taunt and collude
in bitter sweet dichotomy.

Together we await the cooling dawn.

So back to the flat it was ….leaving the dubious creature comfort of a retail centre heading for the ghost of Christmas, only to be caught in the icy blast sweeping down Buckhold Road.

The developers had started work again, demolishing old premises and preparing foundations for new. A bulldozer’s maw was chewing up bricks and mortar like a starved metal monster, who’s appetite was being sated on a banquet of redundant buildings.

Leaving the builders behind, he slipped into his own block and climbed up the stairs as the lift appeared otherwise occupied, Idiot B felt his legs leaden as he reached the fifth floor, fumbling for the keys to open the stiff door, made more so by a sheaf of paper that had been, in the absence of an individual letter box, pushed under….

Reaching down for the missive, a photograph fell out, bearing the sepia image of a young man, looking back at him from down through a period of years …….

Woman in Hat

Close Up & Personal

Idiot B

The scratched record of life was stuck on a particular piece of music, repeating over and over , and would have continued ad-infinitum, the stylus click like a metronome keeping heartbeats time, but jarring change lay just around another London corner and was about to recommence the needles journey.

He looked distractedly over the stores contents, until the thaw had warmed him sufficiently, studiously avoiding the “helpful” assistants’ thinly masked annoyance at his continued presence. But not wishing to out stay a begrudged welcome, he took the stairs back to the mezzanine floor…..hoping to waste another window of time amongst more expensive good for which he had no use nor finance.

Gaudy trappings of another levels existence in exchange for a pocket full of flaccid, greasy currency.

Deciding not to linger where clearly he could not belong, and with a pang of hunger replacing his earlier nausea , going back to the high rise and a set table for one accompanied by some disappointing day time television would use up the hours ….but why he wondered should that be? Watching others going about, clutching onto their happiness even if it was contained in designer shopping bags. They did not want the afternoon to end, he supposed, they did not wish their lives away…………He felt isolated, seemingly the only individual touched by the grasping hand of unhappiness …the only one with problems…? If that is what they were. Every one., well almost everyone, sauntered by in two’s…or more .straight, gay or simply friends…and families, squabbling school blazered adolescence causing customary chaos……

He almost wished for some chaos in his own life .to replace the predictability of work eat sleep and loneliness.

Life was becoming like a metaphor for his reality…..the people around him anonymous as the autumn chill.

Idiot B shrugged against his situation not really considering the mounting difficulties entirely unexpected, but rather adopting a philosophical stance, what will be……….will be.

The cold did reach new depths however, and quick to acknowledge the wind of discontent, he scuttled for department store shelter, shoplifting their warmth under powerless sales assistant glare.

Specsavers?

Idiot B ......

A trilogy of pollutants – cigarettes, vehicle exhausts, and a special strain of halitosis courtesy of the local kebab shop spewing out its donner consuming customers all contributed to his nausea on a day when a watery November sun sliced through the withering trees en-route toward their annual system shutdown.

How he longed for sun with warmth….but a holiday was just out of reach for the foreseeable, as the bile of a former wife continued to prey on his limited finance ….and he had to live as well…reasoning as he avoided another sweep of traffic stuttering away from the lights at the bottom of East Hill…some amongst the number of motorists resorting to the futility of obscene gesticulation as Idiot B skipped out of the way with an agility which belied his overall lack of condition

We take pictures too!!