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Jimi played the Bingo Hall
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the sun is sitting pretty up there in the bluest sky and it throws down rays to melt ice cream and warm the soft skin of that woman there laying on the grass, dressed lightly, leg outs where
men with paint spilt on their jeans and 3 day stubble sit and stare, thinking thoughts they couldn’t tell their wifes, dirty thoughts of illicit sex , sweaty, the idle thoughts of an idle man ,
, and they sit and stare, swapping jokes and tale that are elaborated on and made to be funnier then the actual fact. (in actual fact their lives are as boring as mine and your, they are just nosier then us.)
The sun is playing with us all.
It’s ephemeral.
But it won’t be long before winter comes and scarfs and jackets and gloves replace t-shirts and shorts and all the flesh on show will be covered up and the time will seem to slow down and the colors become muted and night crawls and creeps along the horizon but for now, cheers raise up in a room over their, a goal, and flags are waved and songs sung, a ball hits a the net on a TV, the games live but in a different time zone, the wonders of a modern world with instant news, transatlantic flight, men on the moon, war and the world is truly getting smaller, one day it will fit in my pocket.
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Arnold and Sam flashed each other quick glances.
Their tiny minds had never encountered something like this before. Here they stood, in Syd Barretts house, and in front of them appeared to be some sort of time traveling vehicle. And next to said vehicle appeared to be Syd Barret.
“Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my house”, the man asked again.
The two twins took turns to explain themselves, telling Syd who the fuck they were and what the were doing in his house. Syd listened while he fiddled around with wires that poked from the machine. The machine hummed whirled then suddenly stopped. A eerie silence echoed round the house.
Syd turned to them.
The twins looked at Syd.
Syd looked at the twins.
“Let’s go into the kitchen, have cup of tea, a few biscuits”, suggested Syd as he marched past the twins and headed out of the door, turning left and into his spacious, and it must be said, modern kitchen.
The twins sat there. They were in Syd Barretts house. Syd was making them a brew. He was arranging biscuits in a lovely fan shape, bourbons, pink wafers, fruit short cake, a whole smorgasbord of delightful biscuits were being decoratively arranged on the plate.
The kettle whistled and Syd bought the pot, on a tray with cups and biscuits, to the table.
Syd Barrett. Here in the flesh thought Arnold and Sam collectively. It was all to much for them. So much in fact they had nearly forgot about the time machine that stood dormant in Syds lounge.
Sam, picked up his brew and dunked a pink wafer in his tea,. He watched the wafer suck up and absorb the tea.
“Syd, what is that thing in your front room?”, quizzed Sam. “it looks like a time machine”.
Syd shoot them a suspicious look.
He didn’t know know why, but Syd trusted these twins. When he looked at Arnold and Sam he felt a strange sense of deja-vu, a weird feeling that there was a connection, some kind of bond between these twins and himself.
With this strange feeling in his stomach, Syd joined the twins at the table, poured himself a tea selected a biscuit and began to tell the two kids what he had been up to these past 30 years.
Meanwhile, elsewhere, somewhere, outside the solid walls of the house, in a place that didn’t exsist, a place that no one had heard of, wrongly wired androids were on a murderous rampage, and they only person who could put a stop to this madness was Syd Barrett.
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Arnold and Sam were two twins, well they wouldn’t be one twin would they. Yes, they were twins, both of them.
Their parents named them after two Pink Floyd songs, Arnold from Arnold Layne, a delightful ditty about a transvestite whose primary pastime is nicking women's undoes from washing lines and Sam, Sam was named after the song Lucifer Sam. Dad wanted to go with Lucifer but mother withheld certain conjugal rights until he changed his mind.
Sam and Arnold, Arnold and Sam. Twins. Two twins, just like Gemini.
They grew up in a house that worshipped Pink Floyd and in particular, wide eyed LSD loving, staring into space guitar loon Syd Barrett.
One day when they old enough Arnold and Sam decided to hunt down the elusive Syd to see if he would sign an old album for their parents anniversary. They were good boys like that. So one sunny day they set off to Cambridge.
Syd, Roger Roger Barrett not Syd Roger, (doesn’t sound right does it?) as he goes by now, wasn’t really elusive, it was just an urban myth, a little bit of rock and roll romance. If you wanted to find him just go to his mothers house and he should be, gardening or indoors painting.
Talking to him, making contact was another thing. Rumor has it he last spoke in public I the 70’s but this wasn’t going to deter Arnold and Sam.
The arrived at Cambridge, full of vim, verve and confidence. Packed lunches of sandwiches, pop and crisps jiggled around in their backpacks, nestled together against a copy of the Madcap Laughs.
They asked a pedestrian if they could tell them where Syd Barret lived and the pedestrian was only happy to oblige. The twins followed the directions and after a brisk walk they arrived at his door.
They knocked on the door but no one answered. This didn’t surprises them so the snuck round the back hoping to find Syd weeding the garden, potting dome plants or watering some gomphrena or chrysanthemum. The garden was empty.
Not wanting to waste a trip the twins decided to break in. Not one for discretion, Arnold picked up a brick and lobbed it through the window, They climbed through hand found themselves in a rather mundane room. Before they had time to explore they heard a whoosign and a wheezing coming from the adjacent room. They rushed into the room hoping to see Syd, standing there, shining like a crazy diamond, composing a new psychedelic masterpiece with guitar in hands and a crazed glint in his dead eyes.
There was no Syd.
Suddenly, a bright light, a flash and before the twins could blink something appeared in the middle of the room. It could only be one thing.
A time machine.
A door opened and emerging from the innards of the contraception strode a man, a man who resembled a slightly overweight version of a cross between Doctor Who (the William Hartnell one, that is) and Timothy Leary, the counter culture acid king.
“I’m Syd Barrett”, the men said. “Who the fuck are you and what are doing in my house”?”
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After hours I've finally got a picture on my blog, and a header no less. this decorating is gonna take years
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Prevoisly, before the “change” (no not the menopause) I used to cobble together some pictures in Microsoft Paint then I uses to simply, without fuss, upload them for all the world to see (who can forget my Strephen Hawkings looking at a pair of tits or my Jesus eating a Cream Egg? True works of art).
It was a piece of piss.
Now with this new fangled platform, do I need a paint degree? Or do I need a super doper 25th century image programme? ‘casue everttime I try and upload another spectacular work of art I get this crazy error message:
“The maximum file size is 0. Your file has 2457600” how can a maximum be zero?
Anyway, maybe I’m becoming like those old people who thing mobile phones and I-Pods are something so futuristic aliens must of invented them, may be it’s a fear of the new.
But I used to whiz through the old site, not a problem, do what I had to do and then leave but now I find myself tottering around the site like a blind man in a strange land who’s trying to read his Braille map with bloody stumps after a pack of inbred web-footed wolves have chomped off his hands and are now feasting on his fingers.
So, image help please or the world will starved
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this is test
a test
I am testing this
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