Saturday, 1 August 2009


Going to your dead Grandmother's church, perhaps for a wedding. You hang around in the grave yard before taking your bus to the local pub. A man screams at your Mother for not having a ticket "'Ere she's got NO TICKET!" he yells, embarassing her in front of everyone.

In the pub surrounded by the fine local yokel folk. One of them, Titus or Scargill or something, has a large nose and lank blode hair. The plot didn;t quite make clear but you slam his head into the floor and when he protests do it again as your parents look on. They do and say nothing. The protests from Titus rise to a squeak.

You see him later in the beer garden, sparkling eyed and grateful. Waving you a cheery farewell.


You wake up in the church garden surrounded by autumn flowers. There are people there you know and they circle your bed like spectators and admirers. At the head of the bed sits your world's greatest love. She looks over and smiles, pats your head and sink back into sleep.