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Angle Tarn

We found and used a little window of sunshine in this most disappointing of Summers, and we were farting outrageously after a beans and black-pudding stew.

Missed Exploration

I didn't make it on Tuesday. They were riding in the slavverjag to Leeds, on a particularly difficult mission. I missed them narrowly. The warm grey drizzle enveloped everything.

Small Hours

I'm looking out at the black flat roofs, streaked with orange street light. All babies have returned home. Dead Mr Mingus provides the accompaniment to the ennui, as I sip down the vilest Spanish red.

Dead Cat Blues

Mandy Osmosis has been burying cats in Rotherham. She says a brief eulogy at the graveyard, explaining how noble the deceased feline was, and how it finally succumbed to the evil forces of capitalism. Then she lights a giant reefer and blows smoke over the newly turned earth. Monkey Boy wails at the graveside. He will force down half a bitter at the dead cat's wake, and long for the comfort of his deck-chair.

Ein Monkey

With an annoying summer cold I finally left my luxury Gleadless apartment and shot down to the Forum in the un-English heat.