We went to a small drinking-music place and three and a half hours later I went home and everyone else including the local MP went to get their faces clobbered by shield-wielding flourescent brutalists or their ribs rearranged by the batons of those special beserk officers they have nowadays, the ones with no number on their shoulders, shield or helmet, I think they came from Cardiff and must've been told it was a war they were off to and nobody should be left un-screaming in surprise agony especially the ones walking home in high heels trying to avoid the action, they must be crushed, and then it was on the front page of a national newspaper but I couldn't face reading the article because it was all anyone was talking about all the time afterwards anyway and every new person had witnessed another unspeakable thing.
Walking through it before it became what it was there were maybe two hundred people milling around between lines of police confused about their presence waiting for their shift to finish without getting a breezeblock dropped on their head and Everybody Loves The Sunshine was playing from somewhere and it's impossible to be rioting while that's on so no one was.

Protect What You Value

The beach for the weekend. The far away award-winning one. We did good beachtime things and at one point walked to somewhere and arrived somewhere else and came back. There were large ancient things to look at and the sun was very close. My sardines were controversial. An iPod crept out of my pocket and crawled into the sea. The loss makes me wince, a day-long wince broken up by roaring laments.
I went to the job centre. They did not throw me any kind of welcome back party at all. No jelly. No hats. They are full of questions and can no longer afford to dish out plastic envelopes. It's the cuts. Their questions include where have you been, why did you go there, who were you there with, when did you get back, why did you come back, who are you back with, what are their names and dates of birth, what is the relationship between you and them, describe it, how many rooms do you share, how long will it last and what makes you think this, have you ever looked out the window together and said nothing, do you think that other people think the relationship is unlike how you said it is, what are your hopes for the future, do you often go around the house barefoot, do you ever catch yourself staring, was there a time in your life when you considered going into the ice-cream business, do you know any other people, really know them, would they give you a kidney, what have you forgotten.

Many Thanks

Men queueing for the toilet will talk about men queueing for the toilet. A bright afternoon in the park and we were lining up to squelch into the darkness. The women in the women's queue were not outraged and one crossed over to say here is a taste of the gender-biased amenity-planning medicine we all have to swallow though it's only you who are sick. Banter was muttered.
I shuffled up. The trench was big enough for two and there were three of us at it, harmonising, I thought of previous privacies and noted the lack of phone numbers and appointment times written on the walls. No one washed their hands.

We finished our drinks and went back to Matt's and had more drinks and a curry. Went to the pub over the hill. Music was playing outside and a man on stage was trying to co-ordinate a mathematical hoedown. About twelve people joined in. We sat on a wall drinking gin. The pub began closing and we went to another one down the hill through the tunnel round the corner. We met some people. A woman drinking red wine sold us pills. We talked giddily about things important at the time. We speculated that the only effect the pills would have would be a jagged sense of loss and some unusual bowel mischief the next day. This would turn out to be true. We sat on a bench and drank pints and shots. Upstairs was dancing in a small room with chewy air and doof-doof music. I shook my birthday maraca. Maybe there was some Jagersomething. I had another conversation in the toilets about toilets. I was wearing black and white trainers Leo had found on the street and beginning to wonder if maybe whoever had lost them could be here right now looking and so for the rest of the night I tried to catch people glancing at my feet and made sure never to refer to myself below the knees.
We drank more and talked a bit louder and then went home to our houses, why can we say home to our houses but not house to our homes, there was no one to ask. Another thing Leo found on the street was the blue security-style jumper I was wearing which smelled quite remarkable which was good for keeping people away but I worried if maybe the shoulder patch things were a bit flamboyant for two thirty in the morning in St. Paul's and coupled with the long hair which is always a physical weakness I began hoping I'd make it back to the couch without being killed with a hammer, and I didn't see any people or hammers and when I lay down my teeth were heavy.
I woke up tremendous and bought a pastry full of fat magic and ate it walking and no one asked me for any money.

Church and Destroy

No more moving about except in postcodes that begin with BS. Kyuss are playing tomorrow. Most of them. Afterwards we will not be washing our ears.
The bus left Wales without me. I had to make some hasty rearrangements that involved four hours in Cardiff. I ate a pasty and thought about where my life is going. After I'd finished I thought about where it isn't going. That took a lot longer and I almost missed the bus. Almost missed the bus is another way of saying I was on time for the bus. I wanted to be more dramatic, I don't think it worked.
Bristol has sprouted a new bakery round the corner from our house. A pastry-based euphoria lives in my mouth.