I have had, and have some of th greatest friends a person could ever wish for. A random smell, song on the radio, or taste of some food, even a sudden change in the weather can transport me to a moment i figured long forgotten, and place in the experience so fully i feel it on a physical level. In some ways i am i am both blessed and cursed in being so far from my friends. Blessed in the way that i know these friendships are as strong as they ever were, blessed in the way that from this distance i see them with a new kind of clairty, blessed in the way that their absence forced me to often rely on memory, that memory is now so vivid since it is not distorted by their presence, cursed but that fact, cursed that they are not there for me to spend time with, few new memories are being created, i'm living on my past, but what a past it was...
simple pleasures were found with each of them, each friend brought something special and unique into my life. I think back to the time i spend living with Pete, and the friendship we forged there, listening to the thuds fo LTJ whilst cleaning the flat, getting the light right, making tea, changing the music and sitting, smoking, talking, laughing, every moment was joy filled for me, even in our darker moments, which we boh had, there was always the bond. I discovered music over and over during those years, and miss that connection now.
unfinished

theres some things on my mind this afternoon. Im sat at the kitchen table, outside its raining, the fig tree's leaves are tunring a pale yellow, the end of the summer passed and autumn has arrived in all its damp glory. I ve been thinking about friendships today, about what friends i have, about how tye are scattered across the world, the best of one, luckily for me i married, but the rest are flung far and wide, the two i love most dearly are at odds with one another. I dont think this will ever be reconciled, for the one is sitting where they sit upholding their positiion, and the other is unaware of the feelings of the other, or if they are aware have reconciled their feelings. Life ticks by moment by moment, and we all carry on with our days in blissful ignorance of the damage we do to one another, in our ignorance we hurt others and in turn hurt ourselves.
friendship is a wonderful thing, a true thing, and i wonder if i have it now, how strong are these bonds that i used to think were oak? Time can water these things down, the distance sure doesnt help, birthdays tick over and lives are lived, people mve though the drama of their lives and the lingering adolecent friendships dragged into the twenties in absence of material foundations get replaced by bricks and mortar, by bank balances, careers, lovers. Is there room in our thirties and forties for those friendships forged in the fires of a homone maelstrom? do those superfical ones that replace them become all we need. In times as these, as the rain lashes the roof, ben harper in my ears reminding me of times passed, i need the friendships of old more than i can describe, alas, they will never be relieved, nothing ever is....
I know i have 3 friends, 3 friends, after all these years, all these people that have come into my life, and out of it, there are 3 left, 3 that will do all they promised, 3 that will never judge, three that cause me no pain when i think of them, three names, that give me a sense of love when i think of them, three that will cross rivers and oceans for me. Facebook tells me i have near a hundred, i know, i just checked, near a hundred, bullshit. Those three are all i will i ever need. And i love them more than i love anything in this world.

it was late spring 1999 when i returned from bedford, free from the madness of the three years that preceeded it. this is when life began. Not sure what the meaning of the years prior to this seminal one was? I took off with eddie and if i could have my time over i would never have come back, still now the one moment sat overlooking the sun dropping below the horizon after a day in the waves, tight skinned, salt encrusted, shoeless and complete in more ways than i can adequately describe. Since this time i have been fighting for the same inner peace i once had, sat on that car roof. I lost something when i started to look inwards. I found some other things too, i found myself inside all of that, and that is of infintate wealth, maybe what i am searching for is not accurate. Maybe im not searching for some beatific solace, maybe i am romantasing a period of time and not in acceptance of what i have right now. For what i have now is timeless. We cling to moments, sepia toned replays of time passed play inside my mind, like some lament for something precious lost, and in doing this miss out on the glorious techinicolor of the now. And that is the mistake. The ultimate mistake, the mistake i keep on making.

I listen too much to the inner workings of this mind, listen to all its craziness.

When time slows down, when i get things in tune, when i accept the flow and let things drift i find all the peace i could ever wish for.

on the stereo van morrison plays brown eyed girl, ive got it at the kind of volume that fills the room, eliminating all other noise without being so loud as its uncomfortable or bothersome for the neighbors, you know the volume im talking about? i would kind of like to suggest that you do the same but its figuring that it might not be suitable, and thats just me running away with my memory and trying to force it upon you...anyway if you fancy doing that then that would be fine also, if not read on and i will get to what's running through my mind...the song as you might guess leads me to wonderful memories, special ones for me as i leave sport and ski with you guys and we trip over to coventry, coventry then felt like a big trip, so far away, and foreign, alien, wow, how the boundaries have shifted...birmingham, london, new zealand, australia, bath, bristol, dallas, how the wings have spread, but it takes me to other places, that springboard of a memory, aided by the weather outside my door, i see greenery out of the window with big dewey drops hanging heavy from leaves, the weather is still warm, and still, and the smell of the rain is drifting through the open door, it takes to the garage of widney lane, and the pool table, and before, or after that the unfinished mg which would one day transport me and my misery to scotland, and back again a lighter man...and oasis b sides playing on some yellowed portable stereo...im blessed to have friends like you to have shared so many memories with me, so many nondescript times which have formed the fabric of my past, and when a song comes on to play and the memories unfold like a old picnic rug, full of the fluff and smell and pictures of time past. As you might tell im feeling somewhat nostalgic in a peaceful soporific way which is "stoning me" like van is singing now, and talking of that...wow... what a vault of memories that lie there just waiting now for me to lift the lid off them....the first that springs to mind is ed and dann! (notice the spelling) shouting at me as i crept down the dark stairs of the creepy house we were chuffing weed in...then ben raiding the widney lane cupboard for fruit burst of some other citrus drink to slake our thirst in the park as we contemplated ben joining up for the army because he had failed his a levels, some how the only rifle i see ben holding is one with a flower poking out form the barrel, and more, messing up bens sleeping bag in the beer tent of amsterdam, which takes me onto bens gadgets and how he only ever head them on him when they werent necessary, the times they were required he was always in freshly pressed jeans and mum ironed shirt which he counted get dirty, probably because he had been out for diner with the folks and made us all late in getting down to hampton lakes of a doob and a fire..."she's a witch, and a wobber"
Its lovely how one memory takes me from place to place, like this huge roadmap of our collective history, i am sectioning off things here because this is specific to us, m own little thread runs though this, of afternoons i spent in my room in cheswick writing pained poetry, which i still have, although looking at it now does give me a shudder, still one got published so maybe it wasnt al in vain. So now the piano, and stoned evening sat in the lounge playing handball on the carpet whilst pete played tunes from the other room, the warmth of that room and the comfort of that sofa, i spend=t so may evenings lying on that in various states of inebriation...sometimes sad beyond words, other times happy and gleeful, always because of a girl, but the one thing, the most reassuring of it all, was that it never changed, the consistency of friendship i still hold so close to me.

i have these incredible memories of growing up, that when tapped into transport me into what seems like another life. in some ways i guess it is, as now i'm on the other side of the world, so far removed from that boy iwas, yet still a boy at heart. i love thinking back to some fo the games i played in those streets, those old friends whom i miss and dont in equal measure, the pubescent maelstrom that was growing up, growing up in the eighties. I love having such a wonderful gift of a mind tht can take me back whenever i chose. So now it takes me back to....

The Rope Swing
down the stream at the back of the village hall behind the shops a large poplar tree grew on banks, the river blythe at this stretch was no more that a brook, a foot deep or so and maybe 6 foot wide, some of the big kids had hung a rope swing there, not your normal ropeswing mind, one made out of 3 two inch thick strips of industrial rubber tubing, a great substitute for rope and one that could provide more fun than a mere swinging back and forth, especially when the big kids where down smoking their B and H, and mark roddy, Bod's little prother was around to be forced onto said swing. Once convinced it would be a good idea, mark would grab on tight to those thich straps and clench his scabbed knees tightly around the knot which served as a seat, the big lads would grab hold of the rubber protruding below the knot and behind to walk backwards, getting some SERIOUS stretch to the rubber, only when they could hold on no more would they let mark fly, and fly he did! holy shit! crossings the stream, flying high above the embankment on the other side, im sure he nearly kicked out the upper windows of a passing bus, the funniest think i have ever seen. Im gald i had that memory. long live cheswck green....next time, " the den in the community bonfire"

i was eighteen when i first visited Amsterdam. With three friends we camped a little outside the city, a quiet family camp ground, maybe 100 tents, pitched in disarray across a wooded valley beside a steaming green lake. The calls of the waterfowl would attempt to keep us awake. Were it not for the copious amounts of cannabis im sure they would have succeeded, however, our slumber was an cartoon of real sleep, lulled into that netherworld of dreams by our ritualised smoking both morning and night. A smoking holiday, young and brave, all four of consumed more that was good for us, like a street beggar diving into a free meal.I remember a lot of that trip which now i find surprising, some memories, despite their chemical influence remain imprinted on our minds, tacky and viscous, I can dive into reverie and wade through those moments with a clarity unlike many of my later memories, formed as they were in both joy and distress. Something significant was happening then which forceably ensured i would not forget.

My companions for that journey were Ed, Ben, and Dann! That's how he spelt it back then. God knows where he is now, and how he might spell his name today, that exclamation mark, another little nuance of the growing old, finding ones way in the world, and ensuring we leave a mark, his the exclamation, taut and muscle bound, and glorious in his vigour, he was our captain, or certainly that's how it felt, a little misdirection, colluding, and physical strength gave him that power, although now i see it for what it was, artifice. Lost and lonely and struggling with approaching adulthood. Ed, now, a family man, a baby to take care of, a woman in his life, a steady job and the commitments that come as part of that package. i spoke with him yesterday, he's happy, he's moving on and up and accepting, and i love him for that. So many memories of my time with him come rushing to the fore, in a torrent which threatens to overwhelm me and sweep me away in a tide of thought and feeling. My rudder in difficult times, playmate and companion. Ben too, a family man, on the other side of the world, as am I, is becoming my rock again. Years slipped past and i never understood his importance, but he has always been a part of my thoughts, of my thinking, of my ideas, once, sat in a favourite pub, he declared me to be hi "grandiose idealist". Words that have come back to haunt me as individuals. Grandiosity, he was far to accurate for his tender years when he made that statement however his unknown wisdom has stood the test of time, as i sit here and believe at time that the world revolves round me, i am the core, and everything that happens is a blessing or deliberate attack upon me, that i am the cause and reason. And idealist, what a mess that can get one into, and what presents it holds out to a believer.