For the first time since my return home
I awoke and arose with a clear head
It was Thursday morning
The fuzzy fog had lifted
Which is probably why my fingers are tapping away in correspondance
I made myself a coffee
And returned to my copy of Moby Dick
And the quiet of the empty house
Grandma Dial...who has been here a month helping out
Whilst I was a useless broken ribcage
Had returned to her home in Spain
So all the household chores are mine now
But I don't mind
The quiet is beautiful
So beautiful
That I have considered getting a Grandmother clock
So I can just garnish the silence with tocking and the odd chime
I have tinnitus
Which pretty much rogers the silence
So I need the garnish

I checked my recuperation hand book
Week 4
And I am allowed to play darts again
Also I can drive (normal cars)
And the twice daily walks are now 25 mins long
Including small hills
My recuperation has also started to include dipping my toe into
"The Wright Stuff" every morning
And as his morning drifted into mine
They mentioned the national MacMillan coffee morning
Mmmm
There is one going on at my local Church "All Saints"
Perhaps I will pop along
I have become familiar with the local church of late
Mainly because they put on free recitals throughout the summer
Though the last month had been stunted by a few incompatibles
I don't like solo male voice (cept soprano)
Pianos don't sound good in the church void
And another was an organ recital
Which may as well have been a bagpipe recital
Last thursday was outstanding though
A string quartet playing Mehndelson and Tschaikovsky
I have to be careful though
I was born into catholic slavery
I only escaped
When we all moved to the heathen seaside town of Withernsea
Where barbarism and fishing were the main concern

I certainly am in better spirits
Having endured the trials of the previous week
Which included my skin going through a phase
Whereby the whole of my chest felt sunburned
And I couldn't bear to wear any tops
Or cover myself with the duvet
I also developed some awful secondary muscle problems
That came from dragging myself around in a shit posture
In fact...they were hurting more than my chest at one point
Fortunately Mrs Dial is an expert masseuse
And has been winding the knots out as they appear
Often in a painful explosion

There
A small paragraph about my recovery
It's nothing
Considering all the time I have at my disposal
I should be taking the opportunity to log the details
To cover a heart operation and recovery by blog
Really let folks know what it's like on a daily basis
But it aint that simple
It fuddles your mind
The willpower is fractured
Mostly when I think about the blog
It's just a blurry idea

I did my stretching exercises
And donned my jacket
Heading for the door
To go for my 25 min walk
Before the recital at the church
As I turned the latch
The phone started ringing in the lounge
I turned...with a puzzled frown
That phone is like the red phone on commisionar Gordon's desk
It rarely rings
I huffed and shuffled back into the flat

As I head for the phone
I will relevisce
Winding my mind back to last summer
And some lazy quiet midweek afternoons
When often I would dally in deepest Hove
At around just after lunchtime
Because I knew that a doctor from The Priory
Would soon be setting off to South Surrey by taxi
If I was the first car on area 37 then twould be I who took him
I did this job six times
Picking him up from Hove Priory (rehab clinic)
And taking him to another Priory in Surrey
Once there I would have to wait for him (paid) for three or four hours
Before returning him

On the first two occaisions
I took long walks in the thick lush North Downs
On my third visit I stayed at the centre
Resting in the lovely surroundings
And in doing so met a few of the residents
They were a curious mix
One guy in particular...I chatted with on three straight occaisions
In fact we whiled away a good number of hours sitting in the garden chatting
His name was 'Stocks'
He was in there because he was a sex addict
He explained that life amongst the wealthy gave you access to places
Not unlike the Hellfire clubs
Which led to unbridled carnal freedom
Though he was very grateful that crack made him throw up
As some of his friends were now ruined gollum like creatures
And a couple were dead
Our great common bond
Was that we were both surrounded by the world of cars as we grew up in the seventies
And we talked with great nostalgic relish
Of course his relish was more extravagant than mine
And a marker to this was parked outside

The dashing Jensen Interceptor

On my last visit
He was no longer there
Another resident
A heroin addict called Frenchie
Told me he had gone
And reffered to him as the 'Loose Lord'
And then again as Lord Stockdale
Apparently he was titled

Well I picked up the batphone
And it was Lord Stockdale
He had taken my number back then
In case I fancied doing any chauffeur work
But he wasn't calling about that
At first we exchanged pleasantries
I told him about my unexpected operation and layoff
He told me he had kept a good straight line since last year
And then he got to the reason for his call
It was about an idea I had talked about during our long discussions
Creating a catalogue of British classic cars for the internet
A Photographic Ark
One example of each
All photographed in the same format
He had spoken to some of his elders about the idea
And they liked it
And were willing to fund the expenses
If I could meet him at The Griffin on Sunday
We could thrash out the details of how to go about it
He rang off

I was surprised
And excited
And I walked much quicker and further than usual
Until I sat down on a bench for a breather
And a thought crossed my mind
All this spare time for recuperation
All this space for my mind and body to rest
And still I can't shake the feeling that I am rushing headlong into something

During my prolonged stay at my fathers house
I came to dislike a number of things
The first thing was his dog...Bobby
A bijon somethingorother

What an annoying animal
It pissed on my bed
It ate my trainers
Attacked my feet
Howled like a wolf if I came in late
Thereby being freed from the kitchen by my dads Mrs...to keep it quiet
Where it would go on a quiet rampage and shit everywhere
Fortunately I discovered whilst it was energetically jumping up and down at me
That the overhead palm...as used by the dog whisperer...worked perfectly
The damn thing would stop and look to the side in a slight cower
Once I realised I used it every time it came near me
Mrs dad showed me a range of objects that she had bought in reverence to the dog
A plate with the face of a bijon that was lacking a wall bracket
And a house door number also with a bijon face and the wrong number
Then lots of photographs of the bijon in action
I maintained some kind of equinamity during these occaisions

The other thing
As I was quietly reading Shantaram in the still empty house
Mrs dad would return
Walk straight to the TV
Turn it on
And then fuck off into the kitchen
The TV was at a rolicking volume due to my dads new ear problem
I would then struggle on
Trying to defend my mind from Jeremy (walk on water) Kyle
Whilst picking my way through the paragraphs
I couldn't move or touch the telly beacause of my good visiting manners
No host will ever have a problem with me unless it is of their own making
If I was a rich man
I would buy the ass of the man who produces that Jeremy Kyle show
And when Kyle starts one of his trademark outburts
I would make sure that one of those reprobate subjects reacted
And gave that fucker a thorough beating
Whilst security was having an overlong teabreak
I could wade in to help and accidently punch him in the face myself
And then I would make sure it wasn't an out-take
I closed my struggling book and left the house

I crossed town in this
It is very much fun this little Honda

It was one of Dad's lenders
I went to visit an old friend
And the drummer in my band back in the early nineties
I have barely mentioned this aspect of my past before
But I intend to cover it in more detail soon
As I was tracking him down for a reason
I was looking for some lost recordings
There was one recording missing from the collection that I have retrieved
But it wasn't that I was looking for in this case
He had in his possesion other lost recordings from his previous band
That in fact became the framework of my band
Most of their members came to work with me after they fell apart
That band was particularly good
And was set for stardom
Coming out of the same boiling pot scene that produced the Beautiful South
But their leader...very talented...had a tendency to explode
And they fell apart
The drummer Grant was fortunately home
And we sat and drank tea and talked for hours
Almost ten years had passed
There was lots to say
And people to talk about
Behind where I sat was this

It's the begginings of a 1/72 scale of the Titanic
As well as his work he needs a heavy distraction
To stop himself going nuts
Interestingly it will sell for tens of thousands when finished
It's weight and speed will be to scale (it will work on water)
And his front window will have to be removed to get it out
I left late on...full of new stories of people long since seen
And carrying three old cassettes
I had almost completed the collection

The following day I set out for a bit of a wander
Use up the fuel I had left
First port of call was the old community recording studio
Where we did many of our recordings
I stepped tentatively into there
Having been ejected from there on my last visit some twelve years ago
For allegedly selling pot to the cafe cook
I doubted any of the staff still worked there
But I was wrong
The corrupt official who was the head honcho
And the one who ousted me was still there
Tapping away on a typewriter
I crept past him
And found the studio volunteer sitting in a small office further along
I introduced myself and told him what I was looking for
He shook his head
And told me that there was no old store of recordings
The paid worker...Johnny Vee...took them all away on DAT tapes when he left
I grimaced at the thought of tracking Johnny Vee down
The last time I saw him he was in the middle of a dishevelled and smelly demise
Grey, unshaven...chain smoking rollies and joints
Living (or dying) off his dead dads will money
He had locked himself in his flat
And spent all of his time playing an online classic grand prix game
Through the smoky haze
I visited him ten years ago
And I visited him eight years ago
Both times he ignored me sitting there
Except for ordering me to roll a joint
Whilst he raced
He didn't even see me leave
I wondered if somebody had told him that the war was over

Stuart the studio volunteer sat back in his swivel chair
And asked me what band it was that I was seeking
I told him...and was surprised that he remembered the band
He must have been older than he looked
He swivelled further round and quoted one of our old songs
He could even remember some of the lyrics
"Yeah shit...that was a catchy song" he said
The comment warmed me...it was one that I had written..one of the first
Also he knew well our keyboard player...Simon
Then produced his phone number
Excellent..another lead other than Johnny V
I called Simon straight away...he was very surprised to hear my voice
After a quick exchange we established that he had the one remaining track
And I had all the missing ones that he wanted
Mission accomplished

I decided that with five hours before I returned to the south
That I had seen enough of people for one visit
So I wandered lonely as a bright green honda cloud
And drifted to the housing estate on the edge of town where I spent the start of my formative years
Bransholme...often touted as the largest housing estate in Europe by the locals with a puff of pride
It is in fact only a third of the size of Becontree in London
I travelled to the edge of it...where it meets the flat Holderness countryside
A piece of country that seemed to me back then a vast plain
Now looked smaller and different
I felt a sadness for myself as a child as I walked down the lane
I wanted to tell myself to go where my heart and passion yearned
Not to listen to my parents and teachers
Whose brains were all stuck in a past that had already seen rapid change
I reached the end of the lane and climbed into the "wood on the small hill"
But there was barely any wood there
I rotated my memory...but couldn't work out what had happened
Nothing about it fitted my memory
I felt frustrated and left

Instead I went to stand before the house of my old best friend
I parked the car and continued on foot
Again...frustration
Due...probably to rampant crime
Movement around the area had been drastically reduced by a series of elaborate iron fences
Making a jigsaw of dead end pockets
After three attempts I made it to a view of his front door from behind one of the fences
I could see us both crouched there in front of his shed thirty years ago
Dropping a match into an empty petrol can
Then leaping around screaming holding onto it
Paul O Malley was my best friend
And once love nemesis
He died climbing a mountain many years ago

I carried on to the local shopping centre
At last something that had stayed the same
There is something comforting about childhood memories being made familiar
The corner plot was still a newsagent...laid out as it was
I used to dash here after school to get 2000AD or Battle Picture Weekly
I worked here for one day delivering newspapers
It was the day Arsenal beat Man Utd 3-2 in the FA cup final
I carried on into the old market to make sure it was still the same
And then started to leave
As I passed Quick Save
I spotted one of my old neighbours
A small ginger lass called Carol
I have come back here a few times before to indulge in this nostalgia
Never have I seen a familar face among the thousands
I watched her work the till for five minutes wanting to see more
It was like I had discovered an incredibly rare species

By seven o clock I was standing at the station
I shook hands with me dad
(We don't hug)
And took my seat on the train
I felt a wave of melancholy
Home leave was over and I was returning south to my virtual house arrest
It wouldn't be for long
I am booked into the hospital tomorrow
And they will wheel me off for the magic prick the next morning
It is like volunteering for a heavy car accident
My mind is awash with questions
And flits from resolute confidence to wavering despair
And now just to complicate the big complication
I have developed a sleep beating hacking cough to take with me
Great