Some time in the early 80s

I don’t recall any inciting incident. I don’t even recall his name. I can just make out an outline of his face, and his scrawny frame similar to mine. A pair of pint sizes, in other words. Perhaps there was only room for one pint size in this town. Or maybe it could be traced to something territorial with him living on Western Drive and me hanging out on Eastern Drive where my best friend Lobby lived. Regardless, there was antagonism in the air, an animus leading us inexorably to the moment when we were fighting in the middle of the street. Two junior school boys grabbing and swinging and kicking on Western Drive, to the mandatory accompaniment of “Scrap! Scrap! Scrap!”.

2021-2026 and counting

I have never once come across this gate closed. I pass it regularly when running through Alexandra Palace park on the way to Finsbury Park, my standard run-train commute combination.

Summer 1990

Short in stature, curly in hair, skinny in girth and something of a swot: these were not the ingredients for being cool at school. And cool at school I was certainly not. But the swimming gala came round and offered me a chance to break free of my stereotype. And for that I have Sunday nights at The Merseyside Diving Club to thank. It provided me with a secret weapon: proficiency in diving.

Easter 1992

Jay and Matt came around to see if I wanted to join them going out for a drive. Naively, I said yes. Matt’s former school friend Nick was waiting in the car. We called back at Matt’s where dumbbells were silently loaded into the boot. The weights were taken off under cover of the raised boot door, and the bars tested for heft in hand. Strange. I sat in the back next to Nick and we headed off, bound for Huyton. Equally strange. Not somewhere we’d gone before, nor anywhere nearby.

August 1990

As Emilio and I walked along the exit tunnel from Sol station a man coming in the other direction approached us. He had scorched skin, a black mullet and a short square face which looked like it had been put in a vice. His white vest had seen much better days. He asked the time, and as Emilio lifted his arm to look at his watch the man’s hand darted into his unprotected pocket and grabbed his wallet. I froze, surprise multiplied by cowardice. Emilio caught hold of the man’s hand on its way out, but before a tug of war could develop the assailant was suddenly pinned against the wall by a passerby. The passerby then pulled the mulleteer’s arm out and simultaneously twisted it wrist-upwards, revealing the track marks and exclaiming almost triumphantly “Drogadicto!”.

October 2006 then January 2026

When playing in Brody & Quint with Rosemary and Anna, we gigged regularly in London and from time to time would do a small tour of the North playing at venues in Manchester, Bolton, Sheffield and Leeds.

August 2025, April 2026

I was not prepared for the intense heat of Tokyo in August. It sees your jetlag as you step out of the airpot, doubles it, and laughs at your disorientation all the way to the train station where you will get lost just trying to find the exit. So it is undoubtedly apt that Japan recently unveiled the new word kokushobi for days that reach 40C or above, based on the word koku meaning harsh or cruel. “Cruelly hot weather” suggests an animus, a vindictiveness, a weather that has got personal.

Late 1990s, January 2002

By rights The Argyll Arms should be a terrible pub, situated as it is so close to Oxford Circus. But it defies expectations, especially if you can get a seat in one of the dimly lit, serene snugs. Cocooned by etched glass partitions, you can find respite from the scrum.

2025 to 2026

The Tale of Genji seriously tested the extent to which I would finish a book which I have started. I generally follow that principle when it comes to fiction, if not non-fiction. I can’t say I enjoyed the first thirty or so chapters charting Genji’s countless seductions, and I was very close to giving up. However, the reputation and extraordinary background of this work – of which I was embarrassingly ignorant – kept me going. Almost duty-bound. Along with some judicious research along the lines of: does The Tale of Genji get better? Which it definitively does.

September 1993, July 1994

He had a stout frame, long straight black hair, and a round and warm face – a cross between Zed from Police Academy and Argyle from Stranger Things.