Issue 48
February 2009
C�mon kids, you�re really NOT enjoying that �Sex in the City� DVD, ARE you? And that football match is boring you to TEARS. What you REALLY need is HY!, the zine that will enter your soft, virgin arsehole like a cruise missile and LIBERATE it with hot and juicy FREEDOM. It�s what President Obama would surely WANT! This zine-what-we-wrote is by Rark Mitchie and Sary Gimmons, two of the FINEST specimens of manhood the United Kingdom has to offer. God bless Blighty�s great white cliffs. God HELP Iggy Pop and his absolutely DISGUSTING new insurance ads. It�s official � Rock and Roll is DEAD. Thanks a LOT Iggy, you sell-out CUNT. Didn�t you have ENOUGH cash?? Back issues of HY! are at www.geocities.com/hiroshimayeah
John Martyn, R.I.P. Bless the weather.
THE KING OF SWEDEN DOESN�T WANT YOU
Mad, rambling, demanding,
you talk of firing squads and other beautiful dreams.
You tell me that you are the King of Sweden�s son
and that he must be informed immediately
about the arrival of his new grandchild.
Through the fog of distraction and mild panic,
I realise that the King of Sweden probably isn�t waiting
anxiously for your call,
not if you have to phone a directory enquiries service
for his number.
After several moments of surreal debate,
I connect you with a Swedish operator,
listen in on you both for a few seconds
then hang up,
relieved to return to my usual trance-like state.
EDGE
the sky
looks sad,
dead.
it feels
like you're
falling
off the edge
of the
world.
and it
doesn't help
to know
that you're not
the only one.
THE FROZEN HOUR
Oh, to be frozen in time
in this perfect hour
between 11am and noon �
sun streaming through the window,
radio playing low and soft.
Anything seems possible
as the new day eases
gently into itself,
bathing the world in its
great golden light.
Oh, to be left here
with my dusty old books
and a whole lifetime
of days stretching ahead,
days like blank pages
waiting to be filled
with joys, with fears,
with hopes that grow wings,
take flight and soar
higher and higher
into the blue,
into the endless, calming blue.
AFTER ABDICATION
For 20 years
he ran this place,
now he�s just another punter
pouring the vodka down,
being humoured by the bar staff
and ignored by everyone else.
Later, he will trawl
the parks and public toilets
for casual sex,
King of his domain once more,
picturing a long and perfect,
shining bar when he comes.
MILLIONS HAVE PASSED
Millions have passed through these doors,
seeking comfort and gentle escape.
Some of their spirits still hang in the air
like cigarette smoke or stale farts.
With loosened ties, the day is dissected
and then forgotten,
filed away as a memory,
a footnote,
freeing up space for new illusions.
Millions have passed through these doors
that now swing to and fro,
bringing the rain inside.
13.7 BILLION YEARS OF HELL
Selected Dispatches from an Unwilling Player of God�s Little Game
By Gary Simmons
Some bloke in a St John�s Ambulance jacket just rang the doorbell. I put my little bear-like snout out of the top window.
�Allo?�
�Oh, hello. I�m here on behalf of St John�s Ambulance.�
I just stared at him, in thee eyes, like an animal.
�Are you familiar with St John�s Ambulance?�
I said, �If it�s money you want, there�s none here.�
He said, sheepishly, �OK� and fucked off. Cunt. How come Gordon Brown-as-my-turd-in-a-toilet-bowl can find quintessimal ZILLIONS when he WANTS to, yet St John�s Ambulance, Children in bloody Need and kidney dialysis CUNTS, etc, are left to ponce off CHARITIES?!?! I think some FUCKER is being economical with the TRUTH. It�s all in �Nineteen Eighty-Four�, all in the Third Testament. You only have to look, FUCK WADS! I saw a Cee-fux story about �us� giving �400,000,000 to some nigger paki black WOG village, where they�re perfectly happy living in sunny SHIT yet, when it comes to buying a kidney machine to cure little Miss Muffet�s MINGE cancer o�er HERE, �they� have to go organise a Red Nose day fuckin� Royal BEGGIN� performance!! It don�t make sense. Why don�t that smarmy GIT, Woa-gun, just sell some of his fuckin� LAND to thee A-rabbs� the stingy, self-important CUNT! I�ve ALWAYS hated Terry Slow-BUM. CUNT. We should start a charity to buy HY! a new TAPE DECK. Fuck the weak, wimpy KIDS� it�s nature�s way of building a strong species. All this stupid, misplaced compassion. They�ll only end up as hoody thug muggin� drug-dealin� knife-wieldin� bitch-slappin� adult-baby-clobber-wearin� retarded INBREDS! What THIS cuntry needs is a DICTATOR! I should be that may-un.
*
I�m already BORED of my �face-fucking� video. It�s not even originally SPANISH as I thought, it�s YANK! �When pornography is no longer enough!!� Sutcliffe J�gend. Those fucking pornographer IDIOTS just can�t get it fucking RIGHT, can they?! I am into the FINEST erotic images available� to suit my exotic tastes, no CHEAP SHIT will do!! I�m SOOO refined� wouldn�t you like to know what�s a�goin� on in my mind? Hey BIG bender!! Da dah, da dah!! And so I could go on.
BELL-END AND VAG-FLEAS �CATEGORY 5� PLAYLIST
CHARLES MANSON � FAMILY INTERVIEWS 2/MISCELLANY. Cassette (An indispensable piece of 1960s cultural and philosophical history which includes, wha�d ya know/fancy that/gawd love a duck, people talking about some pointless war overseas� and shit. �Throws down a challenge to the startlingly conservative millennium generation� � sleeve notes to Fes Parker�s Standing on the Shoulders of Saints CD, � Simon Morris 1999. Ed Sanders, the self-confessed �lonely punk�/�left wing guy�/�poet� and author of �The Family�, unquestioningly predicts that Charley will definitely escape, probably around 1975 (in time for the Bicentennial!) Ed Sanders got it totally fucking wrong. Moral? �Got one chance, get it RIGHT!� � Megadeth. Come Organisation. 1983?)
V/A � AXIS SALLY. Bootleg CD-R (The thing here that strikes me as ultra-fucking am-may-ZING is the very fact that I�m listening to this Broken Flag comp for the first time in o�er 25 bleeding YEARS since I ORIGINALLY heard it, way, WAY back in 1983!! And, not only that, but, of further note, considering its highly disturbing radical right wing content, today is the day (5th November 2008, at the time of writing) that the USA elected its first black (well, HALF-black actually� half-WHITE??) president. The story goes; it�s 1983, arguably the golden age of Power Electronics. I sent off to Broken Flag/Gary Mundy for the cassette �BF 8. AXIS SALLY (with Rockwell, SJ, Nazi speeches, MB, McCarthy, Ramleh, CE, S.P.I.T.E. and copy of KKK (King Krown and Kountry) 5) �3.00�, received it, played it, became delusional and paranoid, imagining that �they� (Broken Flag, Come Org, Iphar and, perhaps even, United Dairies!) were �after me� and planned to kidnap my then girlfriend, Nikki Briar-Edny, to whom I lost my virginity to� at the age of 23 (= the secret of extended youth). In my delirium, in fact utter fucking MADNESS, I disembowelled the tape from its spools and threw it all in the dustbin.
�Daddy?�
�Yes, son.�
�What does �regret� mean?� � Butthole Surfers.
This SUPERB fuckin� compilation has, without doubt, been assembled by �the finest biological specimens of humanity that has ever been created on this earth� � Rockwell � The St. Paul of Nazism (guess who�s coming for dinner?) As for the copy of KKK 5� I have absolutely NO idea. Razrezzed, tolchocked and entrusted to the blowing winds, probably. Thanks to Simon Morris for supplying this wonderful, wonderful document, weeping as it is at its loose �n� sloppy anal sphincter and red-raw, infected dicky-eye, and generously scented with the pungent claustrophobic PONG of thee ORIGINAL early 1980s Power Electronics scene. Simon, I am forever in your debt, there�s tears in my eyes� (And so, GeroGary went on and on and on and fuckin� ON).
WHITEHOUSE � LIVE ACTION 46, 19TH JANUARY 1985, 666, BARCELONA, SPAIN. Cassette (Bean-bag and Tom-cat are joined by old Whitehouse hand Glenn Michael Wallis in what was to be the last live action for over five years. All members of the band �went to live outside London for varying reasons and pursued separate lives. There was a feeling in the group that all that could be achieved had been realised, culminating in the very successful (two) shows in Barcelona (300-400 and 400-500 in the audience each night) and the Great White Death LP.� A very firm, tight and downright POWERFUL set, particularly on the never-ending instrumental section with Glenny-Poo-Poo-De-Bum-Bum�s verbally baiting the audience of foreign FUCKS while sodding about on his �battery-operated mini-keyboard.� I also note, from my much-quoted �ard copy of the Whitehouse Live Action Dossier, that there was �pictures of cunts on the concert poster� (now-now, Don Ramon, there�s no need to get personal about the PHYSICAL appearance of Whitehouse members. Groan) so, when the cacophony ends, there�s still something to chew the rag over, then. Includes interview with film maker and early Whitehouse collaborator Paul Hurst. Susan Lawly)
V/A � PRODUKTION FILM. LP (Straight outta scary �K� land. Can�t tell you much about this album because I don�t KNOW much about this album� which is an anomaly in itself as �I know a fuckload more than you realise! A fuck of a lot more than you THINK!!� � Whitehouse. Cut hands, here comes Cadbury�s. Sent to me circa year 2002 on homo-taped cassette by my, once bi-monthly, Spanish correspondent Antonio Fernandez, who ran Madrid�s long defunct Tabula Rasa �noise� bar and record label, this is almost certainly a bootleg, limited to 70 copies, of music by Produktion, Whitehouse and John Murphy which, according to my rather rare �Produktion Film Show� flyer from 1983, music, I say, of which was used in some of the peculiar peliculars of that period, those possibly being, hear me out; Konzntrat 1982, Creatinine Clearence 1983 and, that word again, Produktion 1983. (The one I�VE always wanted to see is the Untitled Short 1982 starring tits-into-pulp Mary Dowd who �lies burried (sic) in soil while snails, worms and beetles crawl over her partially exposed body�� over twenty-odd years latus and we have classically trained musician, Myleen Klass, getting herself face-FUCKED by a whole stinking BUCKETFUL of writhing tropical insects on �I�m Such An Attention-Seeking Has-Been, I�ll Even Fuckin� Slay My Mummy-Dear�. DULLARDS! Everyone knows that breasts, bitches, bugs, blowfly, bumfuckery and burials are a RIGHT bleeding turn-on for those of us into sexual aberrations of the most REFINED nature). This album is, very sadly, a big disappointment for connoisseurs of early 1980s Come Org and Co, sounding as if it were recorded in a septic tank full to the very BRIM with thick �n� turdy plop-plops. Still, it only makes one yearn for a less mushy and more dignified QUALITY release, if such is possible. And, by the way, KRANG LIVES! Ok, that�s enough crit for this month, let�s have a really stupid competition� YAY!!)
HY! COMA-POSITION #2
To win a copy of The Pyramid DVD (lame, censored porn, the type of which you could safely watch with your Great, Great Grandmother, although �Darling, I�ve Exhumed the Kids� might be a better bet), to win this DVD, I say, for which I was a�ripped-orf twelve guineas, back in the year 2000 when DVDs were the new thing and I was simply BURSTING with scrote-sack ache for a jerk-off, to win this DVD, I implore you, of which it was Tania Russof�s ultra-horny Egyptian-style make-up that finally clinched the deal� er, where was I? Yeah, to get your padded pornographic paws on this tedious waste of dick-beating time, simply answer the following QUEERY!!!
Did �The Retard� get sacked from Tower Records for gross misconduct because he �
A � Kicked Trendy in the back?
B � Dipped his cock in the Xmas wine?
C � Attacked big black John for being black?
Answers on a Yves Tanguy postcard, please. The last correct ENTRY to be PULLED out of Maggie Ponce�s furry Russian hat on 10th March 2009 will win the DVD. Kindly send an age statement with your ENTRY to confirm you are o�er eleven years old. Good luck and don�t forget to include your address SO THAT I KNOW WHERE TO POST THIS SHIT that I want to GET OFF MY HANDS!!
Send to � HY! Pie-Rancid DVD Comp, Gartina, Hermitage Walk, London, E18 2BN.
MUSIC & STUFF
JONI MITCHELL � CLOUDS (REPRISE)
Having been a Joni Mitchell fan for well over 10 years, I�ve been wondering how exactly the FUCK I managed to avoid owning, or even HEARING, this album for soooo VERY long. I mean, it�s the one with �Both Sides, Now� and �Chelsea Morning� on it, for fuck�s sake! Did I just ASSUME that I had it because it�s SO famous, overlooking it every time I saw it going cheap and cheerful in record shops the length and breadth of the pockmarked land? This album is all soft Sunday mornings and long, winter evenings of cosy/boozy melancholy � an absolute CLASSIC, in other words. It�s just a shame it took me so long to actually HEAR it.
ANGUS & JULIA STONE � HEART FULL OF WINE (INDEPENDIENTE)
This SHOULD be a two-CD set but I got it from a charity shop for �2 and one of the discs was missing. Nonetheless, the six songs here are very lovely, especially when Angus and Julia chuck the drummer out of the studio and leave only the cello, acoustic guitar and perfect harmonising to waft around the room like patchouli incense. Get your downloading fingers ready, all you modern BORES, �cos the songs that you NEED are �What You Wanted�, �Wooden Chair� and the gorgeous title track (and if SOME benevolent reader fancies burning me a copy of the missing disc, �Chocolates & Cigarettes�, I would be FOREVER in their debt!) Apparently, the Stones� (HA!) live show is WELL twee. COR!
NICK DRAKE � FIVE LEAVES LEFT (ISLAND)
Celebrated the start of my week off work by waking at 5am and lying worrying for two hours till I eventually fell back to sleep. Woke again at 9.15. Put �The Wright Stuff� on and had tinned spaghetti on toast and two Lemsip Flu pills �cos I felt like I was �coming down� with something, TYPICALLY. Had a shower and read the paper. Went next door to see Moira and Maureen, who was still not feeling well. Michael was out with the dogs. Watched some of �Minder� and had soup for lunch. Got the 12.40 bus to Lanark and the 1.15 bus to Glasgow. It was SUNNY! Looked in Borders and Waterstones. Had a 99p Abbot ale upstairs in the Crystal Palace then got this CD for �3.19 from Zavvi on Argyle Street (a shop that, two days later, would be gone forever). It�s Nicky Poo�s debut and an utter masterpiece but an album I have never owned on CD before NOW. Was in the �Shoe around 4.30ish. Had a �1.49 pint of Velvet. Saw Sean Connery look-alike Gus. When I left, it was raining, so I went round the corner to Failt� and had a pint of cider. �Folsom Prison Blues� was playing when I walked in. By the time I�d left, the rain had stopped. Bumped into Stuart-from-work and his girlfriend outside some pub. Had my 4th dump-of-the-day in the Henglers then had another cider in a not-very-busy-at-ALL Halt Bar. They played Johnny Cash TOO, as well as Belle & Sebastian, Joy Division, the Smiths and that rap song that goes �Whoop! Whoop! It�s the sound of the police!� Bought cider from a shop and was back in the flat at 8pm. Went to see John, whose bad back is SLIGHTLY better but James still had to go out and collect his dole money for him AND pay his rent. He came in after I�d been yakking with John for a while and said he�d had an epileptic fit while out doing all his CHORES... and THEN he couldn�t find John�s bank card! He said they�d been watching the darts last night and that I looked like some player called Tony O�Shea to which I replied, �What does he look like? A fat wee CUNT?� Oh, and the complaining-about-the-noise new neighbour had moved OUT over the weekend, after just over a WEEK in the flat! I went to my room just before 9pm, drank cider and played my dreamy new CD.
NEIL YOUNG � SUGAR MOUNTAIN: LIVE AT CANTERBURY HOUSE 1968 (REPRISE)
Another tasty taster for Neil�s upcoming �Archives� box-set, this beautifully recorded artefact sees him �rapping� (don�t worry � in the �60s, it just meant TALKING) to the audience about all MANOR of stuff, from his two-week job in a bookshop (he got fired for taking speedy DRUUUGS) to �modal� guitar tuning. Then, of course, there are the SONGS: �Mr. Soul� (he wrote it in five minutes, apparently� or �channelled� it or SOMETHING), �Birds�, �Last Trip to Tulsa�, �The Old Laughing Lady�, �Broken Arrow� and lots MORE. This transported me back in time on a rainy Friday afternoon spent lying on the couch, achy, ill and loaded with pills. Then I watched the FAB 1958 version of �The Fly�, taking me back even FURTHER in time.
JONI MITCHELL � MINGUS (ASYLUM)
Think I probably reviewed this a few years ago, when I bought it for a friend�s birthday, but now I�ve finally got my OWN copy (which was �3 in Fopp, fact fans), I�m gonna review it AGAIN! This is Joni�s �difficult� 1979 album, a collab with/tribute to jazz maestro Charles Mingus, who appears between songs via a series of short home-recorded �raps� (again, it�s a �60s/�70s thing�) As you�d expect, this is the jazziest of all Joni�s albums and, although there are no Big Tunes, there ARE still plenty of magic moments, such as the wonderful �Goodbye Pork Pie Hat�. If you let the album wash over you a few times, it slowly reveals itself as something of an offbeat treasure, even if you WON�T be playing it as often as �Blue� or �Hejira�.
HOLE � MALIBU (GEFFEN)
PALACE BROTHERS � S/T (DOMINO)
TEENAGE FANCLUB � DEEP FRIED FANCLUB (PAPERHOUSE/FIRE)
These CDs have nothing in common except that I got them for 50p each in a couple of charity shops. �Malibu� is a corking song from Hole�s 1998 album �Celebrity Skin�, the title track of which is Courtney Love�s finest ever moment. We also get two extra songs here: another fine original (�Drag�) and a cover of Dylan�s �It�s All Over Now, Baby Blue�. Come to think of it, these CDs actually DO have something else in common, �cos Madame Love was once quoted as saying that she would fuck Will Oldham for the title of his first Palace Brothers album, �There is No One What Will Take Care of You�. This is Will�s low-key follow-up to that album and it�s great to revisit it again after not hearing it for a while (my bought-at-the-time vinyl copy has remained untouched for years, mainly due to me having a wonky turntable). I�ve always been drawn more to Oldham�s earlier stuff, to be honest, and there are just so many fine songs here, not least �You Will Miss Me When I Burn�, �Pushkin� and the mighty �I Am a Cinematographer�. Now for the Palace Brothers/Teenage Fanclub connection� WELL, the last time I saw the Fannies they were being supported by Oldham�s mob at the, now sadly converted into flats, Glasgow venue the Plaza in 1995. From 1990-1992, though, I went to see TFC a LOT, and this compilation brings together their early singles, which is useful for someone who only previously had these songs on vinyl. Reliving the gig going days of my youth with joyous songs like �God Knows It�s True�, �Everything Flows� and �So Far Gone�, while being very NICE, also makes me feel like a bit of an ancient CUNT!
MARK KOZELEK � THE FINALLY LP (CALDO VERDE)
Didn�t know this ten-track rarities collection - mostly culled from compilations but with some previously unreleased tracks - even EXISTED until a mate informed me of its existence, which means that I really MUST try harder in future (I was ALWAYS being told that at school�) This is Mark K. acoustically covering/reinventing songs by the likes of H�sker D�, Low, Kath Bloom and Will Oldham and causing the good old-fashioned melancholy tears to flow with the Stephen Sondheim classic �Send in the Clowns� and �Bedtime Lullaby� (a kids� TV theme). All of these delights are nicely book-ended by a couple of original Koz instrumentals.
THE BAD BOYS OF MENTAL HEALTH � A YEAR IN THE LIFE OF MAD PRIDE & SOUTHWARK MIND (MAD PRIDE)
Here is a recorded-live-in-2003 collection of artists performing loud and proud beneath the Mad Pride/Southwark Mind banner. There are lovely acoustic ditties from Julie Hathaway and Alan Tyler, BIZARRE/hilarious acoustic ditties from Dave Russell, spirited indie rock from Arnie, punky minimalism from the Astronauts and a couple of PROPER underground legends in Nikki Sudden and Alternative TV. Oh, and contributions from DJ Unfit for Work and Frank Bangay, who really SHOULD be proper underground legends by now, if there was any justice in the world. But there ISN�T, of course. People like Tony Hart and Patrick McGoohan die while entire towns, cities, countries and continents FILLED with utter CUNTS remain.
THE FALL � THE COLLECTION (CASTLE COMMUNICATIONS)
This 1993 comp is something of an oddity, starting off as it does with obscure live tracks like �Cary Grant�s Wedding� and the rather fab �Choc-Stock� before veering off into more recognisable material with �Totally Wired�, �City Hobgoblins� and �How I Wrote Elastic Man�. Also included are the stomping �Container Drivers�, �Leave the Capitol� and a surprisingly faithful rendition of the Beatles� �A Day in the Life� which I remember hearing on the NME�s �Sgt. Pepper� tribute album. If someone were to ask you what the Fall sounded like between 1980-83 then you could do worse than play them this CD.
THE WHISPERTOWN 2000 � SWIM (ACONY)
Okay, so the name sounds a BIT too much like Whiskeytown and the teen showbiz credentials of singer/guitarist Morgan Nagler make you a tad suspicious but hey, didn�t Will Oldham used to be in some well-dodgy films too (like that one that�s always on TV in the afternoons about a kid trapped down a drain)? Forget about all THAT, though, because it immediately becomes clear that you are in VERY safe hands with the Whispertown 2000. Nagler�s voice is instantly loveable to any Maureen Tucker fan and her seductive lullabies and addictive hoe-downs will have you hooked in double-quick time. Extra special guest stars like Jenny Lewis, David Rawlings and Gillian Welch (whose label this album is released on) pop up along the way too.
LAMBCHOP � HOW I QUIT SMOKING (CITY SLANG)
FLEET FOXES � S/T (BELLA UNION)
Celebrated pay day by purchasing these fine discs, for �3 from Fopp and �5 from Tesco (!!) respectively. That�s especially good value considering the Fleet Foxes release is a two-CD set. But ENOUGH of the dull technicalities and onto the MUSIC� Well, the Lambchop album�s been something of a fave since its release in 1995, with classic songs such as �The Man Who Loved Beer� and the completely gorgeous �The�ne� and Kurt Wagner�s lyrics of understated genius and lovely string sections spilling their weepy guts all over the shop. Nice to have it on CD after all these years too, meaning that my cassette copy can now retire to the country and enjoy its twilight years in peace. As for the Fleet Foxes, well, I�m afraid to say that they really DO live up to all the hype and their album (plus six-track EP) is filled with gorgeous, autumnal hymns to nature which drift beautifully by like some backwoods mixture of Simon and Garfunkel, CSN&Y and Midlake.
ZINE
DIMWIT c/o Johan Rageot, 27 Rue de Lattre de Tassigny, 71100 Chalon sur Saone, France
Read this on the train one evening after work and it really cheered me up because it�s filled with great reviews, a couple of entertaining interviews (with De Novissimis and Alcoholic Desaster, neither of whom I�d heard of before) and a passion for music-trading and REAL zines as opposed to internet blogs and the following review* had me laughing out loud and resolving to start getting into trading zines again, since there are obviously a LOT of people out there who are still into all this kind of stuff. Very refreshing.
DVDS
I�M NOT THERE
Brilliant and annoying in turn, much like its subject himself, this is an arty film that sees different aspects of Bob Dylan�s character portrayed by various actors including Richard Gere, Christian Bale and the late Heath Ledger. In keeping with the strange nature of the project, the most successful of these portrayals turn out to be by the most unlikely actors, namely Cate Blanchett -who, in case you didn�t know, is a WOMAN - and Marcus Carl Franklin, an African American teenager. The film is peppered with plenty of surreal moments and enigmatic dialogue like �the only truly natural things are the dreams which nature cannot touch with decay� but it�s the Dylan songs forming the soundtrack that remind you why you�re watching, and the making-of documentary is illuminating.
RUSSELL BRAND � M�NAGE � TROIS
Got this three-DVD box-set for an incredible �8.79 in the Zavvi closing-down sale and it�s JUST the thing for warming up a cold soul in these bleak winter months. The two stand-up shows are stupendous and the extra segments from Russell�s radio shows (one of which features the Mighty Boosh�s Noel Fielding) are both funny and a bit sad now that he�s been forced off the airwaves by the moral MINORITY who have also succeeded in sanitising Jonathan Ross�s chat-show into bland conformity. Russell refuses to be tamed, however, and �Ponderland� (the third disc here) transcends the format of slagging off silly old TV clips to become something of a comedy masterclass.
FLYPAPER
Bob is still in his dressing gown when the doorbell rings.
�Wait a minute, mate,� he calls out. �I need to get my keys.�
He fumbles around in a desk drawer, finds the keys and opens the front door to a young woman dressed in a long-sleeved sweatshirt, jeans and trainers.
�Oh, it�s you. I thought it was the postman.�
�Sorry to disappoint you, dad. As usual.�
�Don�t say that, Jenny. Come in.�
Once inside, they go to the kitchen, sit down at the table and try to smile at each other.
�Do you want a cup of tea?� Bob asks.
�No, thanks. How are you, anyway? Keeping well?�
�Can�t complain. Had a bit of a cold the last week or so but it�s pretty much shifted now.�
After a few moments of awkward silence, Bob gets up, goes over to the windowsill and switches on a small portable radio that immediately swallows up the silence with the sound of classical music. Then he surveys the pile of unwashed dishes in the sink before stifling a yawn and turning his attention back towards his daughter.
�Look, I�ve got to get ready for work. I�m running a bit late as it is, to be honest. Do you want to have a bath or anything while I get dressed? You look like you need it.�
�Oh, thanks a lot,� Jenny says. �I�ll go and stand outside if you want. I know you don�t trust me to be left alone in the house, there�s no need to pretend.�
�Well, do you blame me?�
�How�s your drinking?� Jenny asks, staring at her father coldly.
�If all you�ve come here to do is argue then I think you SHOULD maybe leave. Only, it ISN�T the reason you came, is it? So, go on. Ask me. Get it over with.�
�Dad, I�m sorry. Don�t be like that. I just thought I�d come round and see how you are, that�s all.�
�Well, I�m fine, thanks. Still got all my marbles. How�s Rolf?�
�Ralph. His name�s Ralph.�
�Rolf, Ralph. Still a top executive, is he?�
Jenny stands up.
�Okay, dad, have it your way. I�ll leave you to get ready in peace. It was REALLY nice talking to you.�
She makes to leave but Bob grabs hold of her arm.
�How much do you need?� he asks.
�Twenty quid would be good.�
He sighs.
�Wait there while I get my wallet.�
Parking his car on a patch of waste ground, Bob turns off the engine and pops open the glove compartment. Inside are a half-empty bottle of whiskey, a few CDs and a packet of Extra Strong Mints. He removes the bottle, opens it and takes a slug. Then he punches a number into his mobile phone and listens to a voice telling him to leave a message after the tone. He hesitates for a moment, then speaks.
�Hi, Jenny, it�s dad. I was just calling to say sorry about this morning... If you want to meet up for a coffee or something, let me know, okay? I�m at the old playground at Stanley Hill where you used to come with me and mum, remember? It�s all changed now, of course, but then everything changes, doesn�t it? I hope you�re alright� I love you.�
Jenny and Ralph lie, fully clothed, on a mattress surrounded by empty pizza boxes, cigarette butts and hypodermic needles. A large woollen blanket covers the only window, lending the room a murky, subterranean feel. Somewhere, a mobile phone bleeps and lights up the gloom for a few seconds before once again falling silent.
Jenny is staring up at the ceiling, where a piece of flypaper hangs. Stuck to it are three tiny black bodies. Only one of them appears to be moving.
�Look at that poor little sod,� Jenny says.
Ralph lets out a grunt but doesn�t bother opening his eyes.
�It thinks if it struggles hard enough that it�ll get away. Won�t take long for it to realise, though.�
�Here,� Ralph says, perking up suddenly. �How much did you manage to get off your old man again?�
�I told you, twenty.�
�I�ll give Sprout a call, then.�
�What are you talking about? We already owe Sprout thirty, don�t we?�
�Do we?�
�Yeah. Look, you stay there. I�ll go and sort us out.�
�Okay, babe. Hurry back.�
Jenny gets up, checks that the money is still in the pocket of her jeans and leaves the room.
The pub is crowded but Bob feels very alone, standing at the bar nursing his fifth pint of the evening. Every so often, he checks his phone for a new text message or a call he might have missed due to the noise of his surroundings. Nothing.
He comes here almost every night, after work, and recognises a lot of the faces, although he rarely engages in conversation with anyone. Instead, he finds it preferable to let life carry on around him, to stand and soak it all in like a sponge. He likes to watch people�s little dramas and joys unfolding and observe them from a safe distance. After a few drinks, he often starts to wonder if the sole reason for his existence is to bear witness to these events and to store them away for future reference. Maybe some day he will write a great novel or an epic poem. Maybe one day he will DO something with his life rather than merely allow it to happen to him, as so many others do.
�Penny for your thoughts,� a voice says.
Bob doesn�t move or react and tries to keep his attention focused on the bottle of malt whiskey he has been staring at, but there is someone standing next to him, trying to start up a conversation.
�Don�t feel like talking, eh?� the voice asks.
�Look, I�m sorry,� Bob says. �I�m just not in the mood for chit-chat right now. Is that alright with you?�
He then turns to look at the person standing beside him. It�s Jenny.
�Jenny! What are you doing here?�
�I came to find you,� she says.
�Did you get my message?�
�Message? No, I didn�t. Why? Is something wrong?�
�No, no, nothing�s wrong. I just drove up to the old playground at Stanley Hill after work, that�s all, and it got me thinking about all the lovely times we used to have there. You, me and mum.�
�God, I�ve not been up there in years,� Jenny says. �Last I heard, they were about to bulldoze it.�
�Well, it�s all waste ground now, but you can�t bulldoze people�s memories. They won�t ever go away� Listen, do you feel like going out for a bite to eat or a coffee or something? It�s still quite early.�
�Dad, I can�t right now, but we�ll do something together soon, okay? Look, I really hate to ask, and I KNOW you only gave me money this morning, but��
The sentence hangs in the air as Bob looks at his daughter, the laughing little girl he used to push on a swing, now all matted hair and ghost-white skin. She gazes up at him with the same big, brown eyes that have broken his heart a thousand times before, in a thousand different ways.
�How much do you need?� he asks.