Emerging From Gorse -

Well, I’m just about to defend our corner when her mate Natalie at the back

pipes up with: «Yeah, the windy minimalism of that last track recalls some of

Labradford’s isolationist period.»

Thoroughly defeated, I retired upstairs to bed, left them to it.

However, step forward three years into my secret hayloft, shot with shafts of

afternoon sunlight.

Brendan’s changed his name to Federal Metronome…

Did you see me, being escorted round the ground, Motorola in the pocket of my

Wampum jeans, over the ad for Continental, I made a comic bid for freedom…

There are a million retired liberals watching Countdown.

And in the adverts

they close their eyes and they go to Umbria with Carol…

Oh Carol, oh…

Oh Carol, oh…

They subscribe to Erotic Review because it’s broadsheet acceptable,

and they can read it in bed with their partners and perhaps try out suggested

oils.

Ah, but they still feel the need to board an EasyJet to Amsterdam every

now and again.

'Cos you can’t get Teenage Eskimo in Wantage…

See the keepers hanging rancid in the glade, Arconada, Pfaff and Bats and

Joseph-Antoine Bell… I hope for answers in the distance, far beyond deep sierra

Go on, ask me what we do next.

Just attribute it to King Alfred and go like

this…