You keep surprising me. I didn’t expect to turn a corner and
be confronted by a giant Lowri hangin’ on to a telephone! It wasn’t a hologram,
just a two dimensional image, so there was no chance of any fishy interaction.
Is this how they entice people to sit in a future office these days? If you put
a picture of Lowri Evans on the barrier that keeps the people out of a
construction site on Thirst Street will they all stay out? Or will kiddies
climb over the Lowri to play in the scaffolding? Today at least your image was
keeping trespassers out, even though it doesn’t seem at all threatening. How do
you do it? By the time the sky blocking tower block is built I predict office
workers will all turn on their computers and switch them off again in the nude
and waft the stench of decaying fish through the air conditioning.
I was heading to Home to see a film about jazz drummer
Milford Graves and the met office had put out a huge name drop warning. I met modular
synthesist Sam Weaver just after I bought my ticket. The till lady asked me if
I’d ever seen a film at Home before and I had to confess I was a Home film
virgin, but proudly showed her my Hotpants Romance shoulder bag and told her
I’d seen this band play at Home. As you might recall I lost my Home
exhibitionism virginity to Hotpants Romance last Valentine’s Day. I climbed the
stairs with Sam, having completely forgotten all the directions the till lady
had given me, but we found our way to the cinema without any fishy mishaps.
Inside there were eleven people I know, and there was a seat left next to our
friend Stuart Calton who is half a Sippy Cup. Next to him was the other half of
Sippy Cup and third of Silver Dick the facebook free Kate Armitage and next to
her was Martyn Walker. Next to him were Helen Brealey and David Birchall. David
is such a Milford Graves enthusiast that he’d already seen the film in a
Sheffield cinema. Afterwards he confessed to some confusion about Milford’s
philosophising and I warned him that the Sun Ra “Space is the Place” film
showing at Home on Sunday might push his philosophical boat much further out.
Or should that be farther out? Who cares, as long as you know what I mean.
Those who also watched: Paddy Steer, Graham Massy, Sam’s brother Christian
Weaver, Fred who may or may not be on facebook and a fellow whose name I don’t
know or forgot who I met when Damo Suzuki played a gig with the band who used
to be The Fall. All of them were wearing clothes and no one had brought a fish,
but they’ll learn. The film was called “Full Mantis” after Milford’s revelation
that he had to learn his moves from the preying mantis. It was funny and
moving, especially the concert with autistic Chinese children and Milford’s
account of how he avoided prison by being nice when buying cheese after he went
on a rampage with a pistol against some people who were trying to kill his son.
Stuart was so into it he kept wiggling about in his seat in rhythmic
excitement.
Outside the skies had broken, crying that Trump was making
England worse again with his odious presence. That sexist racist fascist dictator
wannabe with lots of shiny missiles to point at “little rocket man” had ruined
the heatwave, just like he spoils everything else he can. My luck was in, as I
found a big broken discarded umbrella to shelter me and my trusty Hotpants bag from
the crying clouds as I hurried to The Peer Hat where I was just in time to see
the second funniest band in Manchester ever, Jeuce. More on them later, as I
have to make some silly signs for the anti-Trump demo party on Albert Square.
Wish you were here like that demo when we marched against Trump together.
Please send your hologram!!
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