#james bexter

[poonyo]

Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas pencil test by James Bexter

[rabideyeartist]

Show 309 of 1000 tiny magnets is out now at https://1000tinymagnets.wordpress.com/2021/01/22/1000-tiny-magnets-show-309-january-22-2021/ #danceitout #dancemusicpodcast #rabideye @artbyrabideye @rabideyedesign Rabideye presents 1000 Tiny Magnets Show #309: January 22, 2021 EXPLICIT LYRICS = ** Download :: Stream Artist, Track, Playboi Carti (Feat. Kid Cudi), M3tamorphosis, ** Jack Harlow (Feat. Big Sean), Way Out, ** CamelPhat (Feat. Ali Love), Spektrum, Sophie Ellis-Bexter, Groovejet (If This Ain’t Love), Tame Impala, One More Year, Sugar Boy Crawford, Jock-A-Mo, Tom Jones, It’s Not Unusual, Sia, Chandelier, Toploader, Dancing in the Moonlight, ^ Track listings Amy Winehouse, Back To Black, Katy Perry, Roar, Keane, This Is The Last Time, Olly Murs, Dear Darlin’, Lissie, Go Your Own Way, James Morrison & Nelly Furtado, Broken Strings, Years & Years, Shine, Ella Henderson, Ghost, (at Powell River, British Columbia) https://www.instagram.com/p/CKXemLfje8E/?igshid=o3ayoh2iyxed

[andyangus]

Sunday 24th January

I spent the early morning shivering from door to door through the sleepy Petersburn schemes, dropping off hastily sealed envelopes with my mum’s spit frosting over the edges. I wandered around the streets that used to be my playground. My teeth chattered intermittently like a tiny machine gun. I delivered thirty-two invites for Dad’s retirement party on Saturday. Why was I posting these by hand? Simple, my mother is tighter than a nun’s snatch when it comes to spending, which is ridiculous as she works in the Post Office. Surely a discount on stamps is part of the deal? With less than a week to go, she’s cutting it fine. They’ll be lucky to have anyone other than close family there.

This place is bursting with childhood memories. My old playmate James’ house is now coated in garish cladding, in shades of mauve and salmon, and the garden is fully landscaped, but it still has the same front door I’d chap on daily. James has moved on to better things: a Bachelor in Science, one wife, two kids and a detached Victorian house in Stirling.

Down the main road, I could see the old fallen tree at the top of the glen that was our usual haunt away from the rest of the scheme. It still bears the charcoal scars from the day Lisa stole a box of matches from the corner shop and started a fire inside the hollow of the trunk to bake potatoes. The fire brigade arrived before a forest fire could spread, and we scarpered full of nerves and giggles.

I passed the house that Lisa McKenzie once lived. It brought back a gush of happy, carefree memories to a time when pogo sticks and clackers were free to use without a risk assessment, and Sofi Ellis Bexter’s mum did magical things with ‘sticky-back plastic’ on Monday and Thursday afternoons. I touched the wall. The concrete felt reassuringly familiar, just as it did when I lent on it as I waited on Lisa escaping for the day, usually when her mum was unconscious on the sofa with a bottle of cider tucked under her arm.

Lisa didn’t mind her mum’s drinking as it ensured some relief from her overbearing personality for a short time. Until she’d waken, become volatile, apologise, and then the cycle would start over again. Mum described Miss McKenzie as ‘ill’ on her drunken days. I once peeked through the letterbox to find Lisa’s mum facedown on the floor of their hall, with her wig hanging by a determined kirby grip. Despite an ambulance being called and several neighbours being involved, Lisa denied any knowledge of the event.

But on her ‘ill’ days we’d escape down the glen and swing on rope suspended from trees, climb up hills that seemed like cliffs to our young minds, crawl into caves and cross the North Calder Water to investigate the farmland on the other side. We were living in our own Indiana Jones movie.

I wish I could turn back time and live it all again.