SOMERSAULTING IN THE PIT

DRINKING GROUP IN THE PIT

On the way back home from dropping daughter off I saw what has become an increasingly common sight in James Barton: a large group of drinkers in one of the partly bordered hexagons that sit between the central pedestrian walk space and the grassy areas in front of the barrier on the wall at the outer edge of the greater pit.
While they were in my view I heard one of the men shout, ‘look, he’s going to be sick,’ saw another man run from left to right of the frame and then the first man’s voice, ‘you win, you win...wooa, get it up, get it up.’
There was more shouting by more voices as I left through the subway leads to Stokes Croft.

DRINKING GANG IN THE PIT

I’LL ALWAYS BE YOUR FATHER

Just managed to get daughter to the station in time to catch her train back from the first visit to me since she’s been at university.
She arrived Friday and had a friend to stay from early evening Saturday until noon today during which time I saw very little of her.
When we got back to the flat on Friday she said, ‘I’m missing a get together at college this weekend.’
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘wouldn’t you rather be there?’
‘If I didn’t feel so secure in the group I would,’ she said. ‘They sent me the invite by e-mail because they wanted me to be included...and there’s no one else could take my place anyway.’
‘If you want to cancel coming here because of something happening at college then do it,’ I said, ‘because I’ll always be your father.’

THAT’S IT

The message I left, ‘er, hello, two things -
er, one, to apologise for yesterday and two, I’ve been trying to write a letter and I don’t know what to say.’
‘How about,’ she said, ‘“is this a pattern you want to break?”’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘yes, that’s it.’

A WESTON DONKEY

She was there when I walked into the cafe. We’re not friends but say, ‘hello,’ when we see each other and she’s told me about her partner in the past.
‘How is he?’ I said.
‘He’s okay today,’ she said, ‘but to be honest most of the time he’s up and down like a Weston donkey.’

STOKES CROFT CITY ROAD JUNCTION FROM MOON STREET
so many interesting things here,
there's the man carrying two white plastic (it looks like) bags,
the cyclist wearing red and the red car,
the illegal u-turn into Stokes from City and the driver of the car behind using the horn, 'beep,'
then there's the man walks into the frame from the right sees me and looks as he leaves on the left, and...well, so much...
you might notice other things, I hope so, no, really I do I can assure you

SORT THEM OUT LATER

He said, ‘you hear the pub up the road got held up the other day?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘they get away with much?’
‘About a hundred and thirty.’
‘Hardly worth it,’ I said. ‘You know what happened?’
‘They held the pub up.’
‘You mean with a gun?’
‘Yeh, just after closing they went in.’
‘Anyone get hurt?’
‘No,’ he said.
‘You worried?’
‘What about?’
‘The same thing happening here.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘and if it did I’d know who they were and I’d sort them out later.’

PIGEON GETS OVER A LOW WALL
here's the evidence to support a claim made in a previous blog

A DIFFERENT CORNER

I wondered if it was her standing on a different corner from the one where we’d first met.
She turned away as I got near maybe she recognised me. I wasn’t sure it was her but as I passed turning left out of Portland toward Brunswick saw that it was caught her eye and said, ‘alright?’
‘Yes, thanks love,’ she said.
Right into Moon Street from Brunswick and a short, thin woman wearing a black jacket, white knee length skirt and black high heels, walked away from a police car that had it’s red lights flashing and was parked at the side of the road.
There were people smoking and talking stood on the pavement by the car park where, the day before, I’d seen a pigeon get over a low wall.

FLY TIME
a fly walks across the view from my window

WHEELIE BIN MELTDOWN
This result of wheelie bin contact with fire was found halfway up on the right of King Square Avenue a road that runs between Stokes Croft and Jamaica Street.

STUCK IN THE MIDDLE

‘Did you notice she’s not talking to me?’ he said when Godmother’d left the laundry.
‘Not especially,’ I said, ‘though I noticed she was quieter than usual. Why?’
‘She had a go at me before you got here.’
‘What about?’
‘It’s complicated,’ he said, ‘but, basically, a man on my floor is playing two of the women live in the flats off against each other.’
‘Oh yeh, which ones, do I know them?’ I said.
‘One of them’s the one lives up top and she was the one told me about it, you know, about what was going on. She told me because she wanted to know if I knew anything seeing as I live on the same floor as he does.
‘Anyway, I told her this morning and she got angry because she’d already been told and didn’t think I should’ve said anything...’
‘Who told her about it?’
‘...her up top, same as told me as she was slagging off the other woman too, but anyway she got angry when I told her, had a go at me before you got here and said she’s not talking to me anymore.’
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘could be a mixed blessing.’
‘Mmm, I suppose so,’ he said, ‘but now I’m stuck in the middle between three women and a man.’
‘Sounds like a dangerous place to be,’ I said.

AN URBAN ROCK POOL
A small pool of water in a pavement depression at the junction of Jamaica Street and Stokes CRoft

THE OLD MAN

The old man in the pub said, ‘do you know, “The Last Time,” by Marty Robbins?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘but I’ll have a look on the internet, see if I can learn it.’
‘Oh, okay,’ he said. ‘Do you know...’ titles of a few other songs I’d not heard of.
‘Sorry, no,’ I said.
We sat next to each not talking, listening to the musicians playing. I turned to my friend about to say something to her when he tapped on my shoulder and said, ‘you got a pen?’
I didn’t, not on me, and nor did my friend, she said when I asked but I got a pencil from my jacket was the other side of the room.
‘It’s a pencil,’ I said giving it to him.
He used it to write, on a piece of paper about the size of a beer mat, my name, then he said, ‘I’ll make a list of songs, leave it behind the bar...’
‘Give it to the him,’ I said pointing to a man sat on a chair the right of a table halfway along the wall to the left of us, ‘he’s the landlord.’
Later, I told the landlord what I’d said to the old man, ‘do you know who I mean?’
‘What, you mean the cider drinker you were talking to?’
‘He’s a cider drinker, is he?’
‘He pissed himself in here a couple of times recently,’ he said.
‘Well, yeh, whatever,’ I said, ‘if he comes in gives you a list of songs for me, keep it, then give it to me next week.’

SHE WAS STANDING ON THE CORNER

She was standing on the corner as I approached from Portland and when I drew level to her she said, ‘hey you, you got any rizla? I got a pinch but no paper, you got one?’
I thought of saying, ‘no,’ because I had some but in the top pocket of my rucksack. But I didn’t say, ‘no,’ instead I said, ‘yes,’ and took off my bag and got a green pack of rizla with half the top been used as a roach earlier in the evening and gave her a single.
‘Thanks love.’
The square was empty of people except for the two of us.
She said, ‘I only need one more, I really want to wake up with some money, you know?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘One more would do, that’s all.’
The end of her nose was red and I wondered what’d made it that way.
‘I’m not business,’ I said, ‘but I’m curious, what do you charge, if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘Twenty for oral and thirty for full but I’d do a full for twenty now,’ she said. ‘It’s easy money.’
‘Is it?’ I said.
‘Well it would be if there was anyone around.’
A car slowed down, police, then drove on up Moon Street.
‘Am I in the way?’ I said.
‘No, there’s no one to be in the way of.’
‘Must get boring, stood here waiting.’
‘It is,’ she said, asked me my name and we introduced ourselves to each other.
I wanted to touch her, to give her money so she’d wake up with some like she said she wanted to, but I didn’t have any to give her.
‘I come this way on my way home quite a lot,’ I said. ‘Would you mind if I stopped and said hello if you’re around.?’
‘I’d like that,’ she said.

BROADMEAD QUICKSTEP

GETTING TO WORK

We were sat in the Filling Station drnking coffee when he came up to us and said, ‘you got sixty pence, well, sixty-five pence, I need to catch the bus up to work?’
I took out my change and counted sixty-three pence into the palm of his hand then said, ‘give it back,’ which he did then I gave him a pound coin.
‘Thanks,’ he said and we watched him walk off out the cafe and further up Stokes Croft.
‘I didn’t notice the bottle in the bag he was carrying,’ I said and she said, ‘there’s more than one way of getting to work.’

YOU ONLY HAVE TO ASK

He came up to me in the supermarket.
‘How are you young man?’ he said, ‘not seen you around for a while.’
‘Yeh, I’m well,’ I said. ‘I suppose you haven’t seen me because the front lift’s not in use at the moment.’
‘That’s probably it,’ he said. ‘It’s not easy, is it? without it. I don’t know why they don’t keep one of them working.’
‘The back one is working,’ I said. ‘That’s the one I use which is why we don’t meet at the moment.’
‘Oh, right, I didn’t know,’ he said. ‘I’ve been using the gate on three.’
‘Don’t you need a key?’
‘I’ve got one,’ he said. ‘Got it from the housing office. You only have to ask.’

GIVING THEM AWAY

He phoned and said, ‘she wants me to pick up two chairs from you. When can I come round?’
‘Now,’ I said, ‘I’m off out at ten.’
‘I’ll wait until nine-thirty, give the traffic a chance to clear.’
‘Ok,’ I said, ‘I’ll leave them outside at the top.’
There was a man from the floor above in the lift I got in with the chairs who said, ‘getting rid of stuff?’
‘Giving them away,’ I said and then, ‘it’s hard moving stuff in and out of this place.’
‘Yes,’ he said, texting.

IF YOU ENJOYED GULL AND BAG YOU MIGHT ENJOY THIS

A CARDIFF ONE

‘Oh, sorry love,’ said the elderly woman standing in the aisle, ‘you want to get through?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘thanks.’
She leant against the edge of the table from which she’d picked up the paper she was reading.
‘Actually,’ I said, ‘I was waiting to see if you were going to take the paper or not.’
‘Oh no, you have it,’ she said and gave it to me. ‘I was just wondering if it was one of those free ones.’
‘You can have this,’ I said, ‘it’s the Cardiff one,’ and I held it out towards her.
‘Oh no, thanks, I was just wondering, you know?’
She sat down then said, ‘this is the Portsmouth train, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Only it was here at five past eleven and I wasn’t sure.’
‘I know,’ I said, ‘it usually arrives when it’s due to leave.’

CARDIFF PIGEONS GET THEIR MARCHING ORDERS

HASH STASH

I didn’t have enough money to pay the fares to get to work this evening and tomorrow morning so went to Cex, sold a dvd and got six pounds, which was more than I needed.
Walking along the river on my way back from the station I kicked what I thought was a red piece of rubbish.
‘A snuff tin,’ I thought, the sound it made across the tarmac.
I picked it up to have a look and because a friend of mine’s making a flag out of red, white and blue found objects and this would fit.
Anyhow, after I’d picked up what was a tin I shook it and opened it and saw and smelled it was two lumps of hash I’d heard inside when shaken.
Two lumps of hash.
Mostly I smoke weed given me by people I know. I can’t remember the last time I had hash and certainly not for free...is there such thing as a free smoke?
...whatever, I’ll let you know what it's like...

WHEN I SAW HER

‘I’ve just bought a very expensive book,’ she said when I’d sat down.
She’d come in, seen me, nodded, then bought herself a coffee.
Now, opposite me, she held the book in her hands, opened it and turned a page.
‘What is it?’ I said.
‘It’s a very expensive book,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe I’ve just spent so much on a book.’
I’d seen her walk into the shop. I was reading the titles in the window killing a bit of time and learning some more about the local geography.
Now, we talked about work and research, that someone could do it, neither of us being particularly interested.

JUST A TELEPHONE CONVERSATION

THE LAST COAT

‘Mustn’t sit on the handrail,’ he said after getting in the lift and sitting on the handrail.
‘Yeh,’ I said, ‘you never know what you might sit on.’
The outside of the entrance door on the sixth floor was being painted and the man painting held it open for me.
‘Thanks,’ I said.
Later, on the way back in through the fourth floor the door was being painted by the same man and he held it open for me.
‘We must stop meeting like this,’ I said.
‘We will,’ he said, ‘this is the last coat.’

WHAT END DO YOU WANT?

Locking my bike to the racks near Kino’s a woman turned to me and said, ‘you know where Ashley Down is?’ and, ‘can you tell them?’
A woman and man stood near her looking at me.
‘What end do you want?’ I said. ‘You want the college?’
‘Yes,’ said the woman, ‘we want the college.’
‘Up here to the arches,’ I said, making arch shapes with one of my fingers in the air, ‘at the arches, there’s traffic lights there, take the right hand road, under the arches, that’s Cromwell Road...’
- speaking mostly at the woman (I noticed her make-up) because the man stayed stood a few feet behind her -
‘...go all they way up there,’ the shape of the road with a hand movement, ‘...a bit of a hill, all the way to the end, you’ve got a view over the city, a good one too, go left there at the end, that’s Ashley Down, go left on to there up the hill a bit more and the college is on your left, you can’t miss it. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

KNOCK AT THE DOOR

23:48 and there’s a knock at the front door. It’s late, I keep doing what I’m doing don’t answer the knock. Feel anxious, who can it be this time of night?
After a few minutes I open the door of the room I’m in as quietly as possible walk along the hall and stand listening.
‘You got any money you can give me? says a man’s voice.
‘No,’ says another man’s voice.
‘You sure?’ said the first.
‘Yes,’ said the second, ‘I’m sure.’
There was the sound of a flat’s front door closing, of footsteps across the floor of the quadrant, the door to the corridor open, close, the footsteps receding.

YESTERDAY

‘I see the Sal’s opened over the road,’ I said to the woman working in the shop opposite.
‘How long has it been there?’
‘Yes, it has,’ she said.
She was writing a receipt, wasn’t listening to me or looking at me, a step over the line is too far, I can read her thoughts but can’t put them into words.
‘How long?’ I said. ‘Recently is it?’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘this week.’
‘Yesterday then?’
‘Yes, yesterday.’

IT HAPPENED IN BROADMEAD

NICE DAY

‘Room for your bike now,’ he said, ‘you don’t have to put it on end.’
‘Yeh, no having to squeeze into the corner when other people get in,’ I said. ‘And it's so clean.’
‘Yeh, but how long's that going to last?’
‘That’s true.’
‘Still, nice day isn’t?’
‘Yeh.’

THE FIRST OF OCTOBER

...it’s raining
a car alarm
voices from one of the pubs
cars and buses up and down the roads
I didn’t get there
I left the flat, got wet in a brief torrential downpour
it didn’t take that much to turn around pick up food and drink on my way home
I didn’t really want to go, not so much not want to go but rather want to be here...