“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 reading“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 reading“Here, look at those two trees there.”
“What about them?”
“You can see from their leaves they’re different species but they’re growing all intertwined with one another.”
“Oh damn. They must have been growing that way for a hundred years. It’s kind of sweet.”
“Yeah. But imagine if they wanted a bit of distance or privacy.”
“Got someone else’s twigs all up in your business the whole day.”
“‘Mate get your branch out of my face.’ ‘Sorry pal, just gimme five years to grow the other way.”
Continue reading“Hey you wanna see my party trick boys?”
“Mate, no, I’ve seen your party trick a hundred times-”
“Noooo wait, this is different, watch.”
“… Please take those off your head and get down from there.”
Continue reading“GOOD MORNING BRISTOOOOOL!”
“Whoa whoa whoa. Less of that.”
“What? This city loves me.”
“This is England! You can’t do that here. There are rules, you Yankee Doodle dickhead.”
“Did you… did you just call me a Yankee Doodle dickhead?”
“…yes.”
“Oh my god dude, I love that.”
Continue reading“How much longer?”
“Not much further now. Hang in there.”
“Mate, I don’t think I can.”
“Come on boys, it’s just up ahead.”
“But we’re not getting any closer. We’ve been walking for hours and it’s not getting any nearer. I can’t help but wonder: could we have died? Maybe on the train yesterday? What if it crashed, and this is purgatory – just us here, with Budgens on the horizon, forever and ever and ever.”
“No dingus, we haven’t died.”
“But it’s getting further away with each step we take. I’m freaking out. I’m freaking out.”
“Look, it’s fine, we’ll be there in about ten sec-”
“HHHHAAAAAAUUUUUAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHH!”
Continue reading“There was this story I used to like when I was a kid in Cali. There’s a boy, and his best friend is a tree.”
“Weird.”
“Shut up. And every time the boy needs something, the tree gives him it. Like when the boy needs to eat, the tree gives him fruit. Then when he needs to build a house, the tree gives him branches for wood.”
“Charitable tree.”
“And then by the of the book, the boy is an old man, and the tree has been all used up by the boy, so all that’s left is a stump. And the boy asks the tree for somewhere to sit, and the tree says ‘you can sit on me’. And he does.”
“Huh. Unsure how I feel about that one.”
“Right? When I was a kid I loved that story. I thought ‘aw, what a beautiful kind tree’. I thought the story was all about giving everything you can to help others. Then I got older and I realised the kid’s an asshole.”
“I don’t really understand what the story is meant to represent. Like maybe the tree is a parent and the kid is their child. Or maybe the tree is a good friend and the kid is a bad friend. Or maybe they’re both bad friends, in their own way.”
“I think the core of it is that real friends should help each other grow.”
“Yeah. I think you’ve got it.”
Continue readingLondon, 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 readingThe 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 reading
I’m on a train rocketing across the south of France, and from the window I can see the ocean and hills and a rusty abandoned car with lime green paint. Daniel Bedingfield has come on shuffle somehow, and it’s making me feel like a wide-eyed young girl on a 1990’s road trip.
Continue reading