Well, after spending much of December chortling at all my friends getting struck down and locked away with Covid, I got struck down and locked away with Covid. I developed a cough on the 2nd of January, and tested myself on the 3rd. Within seconds the latty flow showed up an absolute wedge of a positive line, and I was very cross and upset.
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On Tour with AK: Part 10 (The End)
“I think I’ve adapted to the roadie life, you know. Like my body has adjusted to just not really sleeping and being drunk all the time and eating crap. I feel like I could just keep going at this point.”
“I’ve got, like, three brain cells left, boys. And they’re all dancing a jig.”
“Yeah. I think that’s why I feel so happy.”
Continue readingOn Tour with AK: Part 9
“Yo, it’s Ani fockin’ Klang here spittin’ flows, come around here imma break your nose, bitches love me when I play my shows, I’m fly as hell and everybody knows.”
“Very nice.”
“Okay your turn.”
“Sorry?”
“Your turn. Spit some bars.”
“No, I don’t think so. Not my style.”
“Oh come on.”
“Where would I even begin?”
“Just start talking. Then make it rhyme.”
“Right. Okay. So like iambic pentameter or?”
“Jesus boys, no. Don’t overthink it. Go.”
“Alright. Ahem. YO, YO, MY NAME IS DAN, AND I’M A MAN AND I HAVE A PLAN. I’M GONNA GO TO THE SHOP TODAY, AND IM GONNA BUY SOME BLOODY HAY. FOR MY HORSE! BECAUSE HE’S HUNGRY AND-”
“Okay.”
“What?”
“Maybe… maybe keep working on it.”
Continue readingLondon | Circuits
London, I’m learning, isn’t any one thing. Other cities I’ve lived in have been mostly one thing. Berlin: dark artsy Neverland. Sheffield: grungy student paradise. Melbourne: affluent hipster metropolis.
Continue readingLondon | Simba
My little brother has been helping me a lot recently. Dealing with the break up, plus starting a new job, settling into a new city, and adjusting to the unavoidable loneliness of London, there’s been a lot to think about, and at times… (deep breath; understatement of the fucking century incoming) I’ve struggled.
Continue readingAvignon | Encore
The train from Marseille to Avignon was a pleasant 90 minutes. The south of France looks like Spain, and reminds me of family holidays when I was a kid – walking along in flip flops and baggy shirts down to the beachfront restaurants for an evening meal, the night air warm, crickets chirping in the bushes.
I met Seth at the station. I’d been running late, and when I found him outside he was leaning on a railing, shaven-headed, grinning at me through a pair of dark sunglasses.
“Hello mate,” he said, when I came in for a hug.
It’s always nice to be back.
Continue readingLondon | St. Reatham
I’m growing fond of Streatham Hill. It’s a buzzword for ‘shit’ around much of London, which I quite like. I ask somebody at a party where they live and they say ‘Pimlico’ or ‘Balham’ or whatever, and I say ‘nice’, and then they ask me where I live and I say Streatham and they say ‘oo’—the same sort of ‘oo’ noise people make when a footballer on the telly trips up and his shin bones burst through his calves.
Continue readingStrasbourg | Wisdom
I’m bald, I’m bruised and I’m swollen; I look like a kiwi left behind in a lunchbox in the ruins of Chernobyl.
Continue readingStrasbourg | Cochon
It’s been five and a half months in Strasbourg. This blows my mind. Half a year here, and still life feels like a waiting room; waiting for my French to improve, waiting for solid friendships to form, waiting for our money to stop fluctuating quite so madly.
Continue readingStrasbourg | A Good Man of Snow
Strasbourg is quilted with snow. We were supposed to go hiking in the mountains yesterday, and we got up early to dress ourselves in layer upon layer of old ski gear. When we got to the train station, however, we found our train cancelled due to some trees having collapsed onto the tracks.
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