#which has a pint of a nostalgic feel to it which i guess is what made me warm up to him a lil | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

looselucy · 7 years

Photo

November

“So, when exactly do you think we should have stopped Liam drinking?” Harry’s body curved gorgeously as he leaned against the bar. “Around five pints ago.” I figured. “You didn’t even see him do the shot.” “He did a shot?” I cried. “It was an accident!” “An accident?” I huffed sarcastically. “Yeah. I accidentally ordered the shots, paid for the shots, and then passed one over to Liam. Total accident.”

I lightly slapped Harry’s chest and then dragged my eyes back over to the dancefloor, seeing Liam stood there hugging my dad. I was just grateful that he was being a loving drunk. It seemed the day had rubbed off on him a little bit, because he could have so easily gotten drunk to the stage where he was ready to have a fist fight with my dad, but he’d opted for hugging and dancing instead. “Looks happy though, doesn’t he?” I smiled. “He does.” Harry nodded. “How far do you think you are from being at that stage?” “Well, ten pints and one shot, at least.” I smirked. “But… I just want to talk with him, really. I’m not expecting too much, at this stage. I just want to talk.” It was easier for Liam, in some ways. He’d probably had an even tougher time adjusting to the whole mess than I had, especially with him having to stop travelling and attempting to settle down back in the UK. But at least Liam had been working with him, because it seemed even the small talk had helped them reach a good stage a little quicker. They’d become more familiar with each other. They were used to each other. I hadn’t had that privilege. Also, the bottom line was, I hadn’t drunk as much as Liam had. “You gunna go over there?” Harry asked. “No. He’s gunna have to approach me. I’m trying my best to be understanding, and everything, but I’m not being a pushover. Not tonight.” “Well, I’d offer to buy you a drink, but I’m skint.” Harry smiled, as I turned back to face him. “Student loans don’t really cover buying drinks at wedding receptions.” “You’ve been buying drinks all day.” I pouted. “Let me get you one.” “I’m alright. Kinda want to pace myself anyway.” “Why?” “Well, if you end up drunk, crying, and being sick, I need to be in a fit enough state to look after you.” “Flattered.” I tutted. “But I’m pacing myself too. It could be hours before my dad plucks up the courage to talk to me, and I don’t want to be slurring my replies.” The unmistakable piano notes featured in the opening of Angels by Robbie Williams sounded, and I groaned loudly. It made me regret not getting a drink straight away. “What?” Harry chuckled. “I was just waiting for him to play this song.” I huffed. “Where did they hire this guy? Stereotypical Wedding DJs R Us?” “Worst joke you’ve ever made.” He sniggered. “And for your information, this is a fine song.” “You’re kidding?” “It’s a classic.” He shrugged. “I’d have been disappointed if he didn’t play this.” I watched as everyone poured onto the dancefloor, the song being a literal magnet for those people. I suppose it was pretty difficult not to have a soft spot for that song. For some reason, it seemed to be a nostalgic song for everyone! I wasn’t even sure how that was possible, how one song could have that kind of pull to it, but Angels just did. I guess Liam hadn’t been with us for a while, and I was the one having to think up the sassy, bitter comments. On top of that, it was the prime song at every single terrible wedding that any British person has ever attended. It was just so bloody predictable. As I was staring at the dancefloor, Harry moved around so he was stood in front of me, and offered his hand. “No.” I said straight away. “We’ve gotta dance.” “To Angels?” “Don’t let me down, Pip-Squeak.” His raised his eyebrows playful, his hand still waiting to be taken. I gave him this look, like I really didn’t want to do it, staring at him through thick lashes, but I found it very difficult to keep the smile off my face. Harry didn’t realise he wasn’t just inviting me to dance, but he was just inviting entirely. The way he held himself, the twinkle that was constantly in his eye no matter the lighting. He was warmth embodied, the kind of warmth I felt like I needed to survive. With a roll of my eyes, I slapped my hand in his, watching each little movement of his lips as they spread into this wonderful, wide grin. He dragged me off towards the crowd, placing us slap bang in the middle, and holding me close to him as we began to sway back and forth, Harry seeming pretty familiar with his role of leading. I was aching to lay my head on his chest, but not only would I be pushing my luck, I would be pushing my own nerves. I couldn’t even imagine how deeply I would fall in love with the bastard if I was slow dancing with him with my head on his chest. I wrapped one arm around him, and lay my other hand on his shoulder. Harry placed one hand on the small of my back, and placed one giant hand nervously on the side of my neck, his throat hitching, and I could feel that he was shaking. Just slightly. He tried to snap out of it. “Okay, so we missed the first chorus whilst you were moaning about the song.” He shook his head. “But I think on the next, you do a spin.” “You want me to spin?” “When Robbie goes, and through it allllll, you step back from me, right?” “Okay.” I chuckled. “But I’ll keep hold of one hand, obviously. THEN, when Robbie goes, she offers me protection, you spin. Then on a lot of love and affection-” “Stop singing.” “You come back close, right?” I could see Harry had started the whole thing as a joke, but the more he explained it, I could see he was actually getting a little bit excited over this performance we were about to put on, even though he would never admit it. My cheeks were hurting I was smiling so much. “And we stay close for whether I’m right or wrong.” “Did you know you can sing?” I bit my lip. “Then, of course, when Robbie sings and down the waterfaaaaall, okay, this is where it gets complicated. When he says that, I’ll step away from you, okay? Then, it’s almost my turn to spin.” “Pippa?” I turned around, to see my dad stood waiting for me. How long had I been waiting for this, for my dad to pull himself together and speak to me? Fuck, I was glad it was finally happening, but did he really need me at that EXACT BLOODY MOMENT? I just wanted to turn around and scream that I was just about to do some bloody spinning with Harry, but I didn’t think that would be much of a big deal to him. “Hi.” I breathed. “You wanna talk?” He mumbled. I nodded, my dad went outside, and I tried to catch my breath before I followed him. Harry dropped his hands from my body at the same time as I dropped mine from his. “Good luck, Pip.” “Thanks.” “Shame though. That was going to be a fantastic dance.” “Well, if this DJ is as bad as I think he is, I’m sure he’ll play the same song again in an hour or so.” “Fingers crossed! Now get out there. Stay calm, okay?” I nodded, and then I finally followed my father, turning around once before I got outside, seeing Harry stood in the centre of the dancefloor on his own, his head towards the floor. He seemed so sad. I really didn’t think it was anything to do with missing out on our dance routine. I had to shove him to the back of my mind for the time-being, because our moment had arrived. It was dark and cold outside now, so no one else was around. My dad was sat down on the wall myself, Harry and Liam had been sat on earlier, smiling with pain as I neared him. I didn’t sit down, I just awkwardly folded my arms. “How are you, Love?” He asked me. “Just looking for answers.” “I bet.” He huffed through his nose and shook his head. “I don’t even know where to start.” “Well, you’re going to have to figure it out, dad. Because if I don’t have some answers within the next few minutes, I’m just gunna go home, and give up on you completely.” The words felt like toxic as they fell from me, and I couldn’t help but feel like I should have felt a little guilty about it. I thought maybe I should have felt a tiny bit of regret, but I didn’t. If anything, I was being nice. He seemed totally lost. I may have been sarcastic, but even my dad had never seen me being so hostile. It just wasn’t in my nature. “I wanted to give you space.” He began. “I didn’t want to push you because, I knew… I knew how you… I knew how you saw me and your mother. You put us on a pedestal. You really looked up to our relationship… and I never wanted to let you down.” My bottom lip was quivering, and I knew this would happen. Even if my dad had just said the word sorry and left it at that, I probably would have burst into tears. Anything could have tipped me over the edge given how long we had gone without talking, and it seemed he wasn’t going to do anything by halves. “Okay.” I breathed. “I get that.” “So, I didn’t want to force any kind of conversation on you too quickly. Then, after a few months… I knew it was supposed to be me who was reaching out to you. But… I was so scared. Scared of you rejecting me and scared of… Scared of breaking your heart more than I already have.” He attempted to hold himself together. “And the longer I put it off, the worse it got, and the more scared I got. Have you ever skipped so many lectures in a row that you were too scared to go back in because of what they would say?” “No.” I lied. “Okay. I’ll pretend I believe you, but we’re cut from the same cloth.” He chuckled under his breath. “But that’s just what it was. By the time I decided my fear wasn’t what was important here, a phone-call wasn’t enough.” He was waiting for me to say something, which he shouldn’t have done, because I had been biting my tongue for a while, and he had given the perfect opportunity to chew. “I thought you were going to write to me.” I could feel myself getting angry. “Huh?” “When you asked Liam for my address, I thought you were going to write to me.” My voice was shaking. “Do you know how much it hurt to receive a fucking wedding invitation when I expected an apology?” My dad undid his top button and loosened his tie, because he obviously felt like he was in a tight spot, but he hadn’t figured out that wasn’t down to his suit. “I didn’t even think.” He sighed. “At what point over the past ten months did you think, dad? We’ve all been fucking scared! That’s not an excuse!” “I’m not trying to give you excuses, Pippa! I’m trying to explain myself. I know it’s not an excuse, trust me! I just wanted you to know why I’ve struggled so much.” “AND DO YOU WANT TO KNOW HOW MUCH I’VE STRUGGLED, DAD?” I was suddenly screaming. “BECAUSE I DON’T THINK YOU REALISE THAT WHEN YOU AND MUM SPLIT UP, YOU DIDN’T JUST DECIDE TO LEAVE HER! YOU DECIDED TO LEAVE ALL OF US! JEN WAS MORE IMPORTANT TO YOU THAN MUM, ME, AND LIAM COMBINED! DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH THAT HURTS?” He clearly didn’t understand the meaning of the word struggled, because this was his bed and he didn’t even have the damn guts to lay in it. Of course, he was scared, but this was all down to him, and wasn’t there to hear his self-pity. All I had wanted was a sincere apology for the way things had been. I wasn’t looking for his explanations and excuses or how he had struggled so much with what he had done. All I wanted, was for him to tell me how sorry he was that he messed up, because he had left our family to try and become happier, and it was us who had dealt with the aftermath and had to clean up the pieces. “I don’t blame you for wanting to be happy, dad.” I forced myself to calm down. “But I don’t want to hear about how hard this has been for you. This… this was your decision, and you’ve made no effort with any of us since you made that decision. Now I have your excuses, I want to hear what the hell you’re going to do about it?” He didn’t know what he was going to do about it, I could see the lost look in his eyes. I didn’t expect him to know what to do, what I did expect was him to finally start thinking about it, and to put those thoughts into action. That’s all I could anticipate from him after he had given us so little, for so long. “I think we should take it steady.” He started. “We’ll… ring each other. Then we can meet up for meals and… you can start talking to Jen and… I don’t know. I don’t want to rush you.” “If you’d had said you didn’t want to rush me in March, I would have understood.” I huffed my humour. “It’s a bit late for that.” “Must you always crack jokes, Pippa?” “Yes.” I told him firmly. “Okay.” He smiled again. “But does that sound good to you?” “I won’t approach you. I don’t want these to be empty words, so if you want to see me, you have to make the effort.” I informed. “I will.” “Then, okay. It sounds okay.” I was getting cold, only just realising how dark it was. I just wanted to go back inside and down a very strong drink, maybe do some shots to make Zayn proud. I figured that was as far as we were going to get that night, and as much as he had frustrated me, he’d also done what I’d needed from him. All I’d wanted, for so long, was a start to rebuilding our relationship. We had that. I was okay. “Pippa?” I looked back up after my momentary glance to the floor, seeing the sorry look in his eye. Seeing that, I wasn’t even sure I needed to hear his apology. His eyes were twinkling his regret, there were lines in the creases and ages of his face that hadn’t been there just a moment before. He felt terribly, about everything. “Hm?” I prompted. “I’m so sorry. I know it’ll never be enough… but I am. I’ll never be able to repay these months to you, but I want to make sure that they’re never repeated.” One tear escaped me, and I was kicking myself for it, but I guess my dad knew more than most how often I cried, since he’d had to put up with it since the day I was born. I think in a way, he was relieved that I cried, because he knew it meant something to me. It would have been worrying if I hadn’t cried, even if it was just a little bit. I quickly wiped that tear away, and nodded, because I was so ready to move forward with him. I was so ready to move on. + + + “MUUUUM! OPEN THE DOOR, IT’S COLD!” Liam yelled. “Hold on, Liam!” We heard her through the wood. “I asked your bloody dad to fix this latch years ago and he never bloody did.” “Mum, you dare start talking about how you need a man around the house again.” I scalded. “I do need a man around the house. I’m rubbish at this stuff and- oop, oh, I’ve got it.” She swung the door open with a look of pride on her face, and Liam pretty much fell inside, kissing my mum on the cheek before he ran down to the kitchen to drink a glass of orange juice that he’d been talking about the entire taxi drive back. “Hi, mum.” I smiled. “How was it?” She asked hesitantly, clearly scared to hear my answer, letting us inside and closing the door behind us. “It was okay. Weird, but okay.” “Was Jen’s dress horrible?” She hoped. “Of course it was. She’s got nothing on you.” I moved to hug her, and I hugged her tight. She’d been so incredibly strong. I’d inherited my crying from her more than my father, even though they were both soft. But she hadn’t rang me crying, and it didn’t seem like she was going to cry then, either. She was just handling it all so well and I had absolutely no clue how she was doing it. I was so proud of her. “Oh goodness, where are my manners?” She blustered, pulling out of the hug. “You must be Harry.” “I must.” He smirked. There was something so remarkable about Harry. Two little words, and even I was already swooning. He was just so stupidly charming, so handsome and cut and perfect. God, he was fucking perfect. It only occurred to me in that moment that I actually kind of wanted Harry to flirt with my mother. He would be good at it, for one, and on top of that it was probably the exact little confidence boost that my mother would need. “I’m Lisa.” She offered her hand. “I know exactly who you are.” He shook it. “I’ve heard nothing but good things.” He moved to give her a kiss on the cheek and she was loving it. I felt like my mum would be the only person I would feel okay about Harry flirting with. “Well, aren’t you tall.” She blushed after he kissed her. “Thank you. I’ve dedicated almost twenty years to growing, so that means a lot to me.” She laughed a lot harder than the joke warranted, flapping her hand and rearranging her hair, flirting back with him as best as she could, though she was a little rusty. “You need to bag this one up, Pippa.” She told me. I just awkwardly laughed instead of saying that I’d already made a weak attempt at bagging him up. I felt like saying that would have brought up more questions than it answered. Harry seemed to feel pretty awkward too, because even though he’d been so wonderful to me of recent, he was still aware that he had broken my heart. I knew he was trying his best to make things up to me, but I’d kind of forgotten that it must have been a hard time for him, too. Almost like he couldn’t put a foot right. “I’m desperate for a brew.” I shakily spoke after a while. “Shall I put the kettle on?” We all wandered through to the kitchen, where we found Liam, fast asleep with an unopened carton of orange juice in his hand, his cheek squished against the top of our dining table. Something tugged at my heart in that very moment, because I realised the last time I saw Liam sat at that table, he was just 18 years old. I didn’t even know that the last time I saw him there would be the last time until that very moment. Liam had gone off to university, and he just loved that escape so much, he never came back. Not for Christmas or birthdays or anything. My mum and dad went down to London to see him a few times, but I knew he hadn’t really wanted them to, that’s why I never went with them, because he’d asked me not to. He wanted to be away from us, and I totally understood that. Then he went traveling and he didn’t come back; he only came back when he was needed. I had to question if it was just what he was like, what he wanted from life, or if maybe Liam had subconsciously known about the affair and our broken family all this time, and wanted to be away from it all. Because I knew, the now 24 year old boy who was asleep at that table deserved to be asleep under the stars in a town he couldn’t remember the name of. I was just staring at Liam, though I could feel Harry gazing at the side of my face, trying to figure me out, like he always was. But all he could take in was how lost I looked, so he filled up the kettle himself, and flicked it on. “So what are you doing up so late, Lisa?” Harry chatted. “I just wanted to hear about the wedding. So how bad exactly was it?” She seemed very excited, and I finally turned back to the conversation, because my mum really needed to vent, and I was more than happy to let her. “The DJ played Angels.” I told her. “Every bad DJ does.” She agreed. “Yes, give me more.” “Not an open bar.” Harry added. “I wondered why you both seemed so sober. Harry, why didn’t you drive back?” “We had a few drinks, just not worth the risk. I’m gunna pick up my car in the morning.” “I’ll drive you.” She smiled. “Thank you.” As soon as the kettle had boiled, Harry asked my mum where the mugs were and got to work. I adored how at home he seemed. It was like he’d been there a million times, and I wished he had, and I wished I’d be able to see him there a million times more. “I’ve set up the spare room for you, too.” “Lisa, I’ve been excited for weeks about sharing a bed with you.” He grinned, passing the cup of tea to her. “Well, I’m sorry to let you down.” She giggled. “I’ll get over it. I hope.” “I’m sure you will. Anyway, I’m going to take this to bed, I’m shattered. I’ll try and drag this one to upstairs.” She gestured to Liam. “Goodnight, mum.” I smiled. “Goodnight, Love.” She returned. She attempted to get Liam out of the chair, but her efforts fell flat. After having a good laugh about it, Harry went to help her, the two of them dragging him upstairs, leaving me on my own for a few moments just sipping my tea. I was glad I didn’t come home often, because it made every single visit more special. I just loved being there, finally back in the right house too. Being in that rented house over summer just hadn’t felt right. Standing in that kitchen, the same kitchen I’d taken my first steps, the kitchen I’d cracked my first egg, it just felt right. I’d never loved a place so much. Harry appeared a few minutes later, a dopey little smile on his face as he grabbed his cup. “You and your mum-” “Two peas in a pod.” I finished his statement for him. “You’re not fucking kidding.” He chuckled. “I got her some flowers to say thanks for having me, but I left them in the car because I really didn’t want to go to a wedding with flowers and then be like, oh I’m sorry, they’re not for you.” “You bought her flowers?” I gawped. No one ever tells you how much love can hurt. Love is made out to be an indestructible force, one that consumes you and everything around you. One that brings joy and a kind of happiness that completes you. Unrequited love was the complete opposite of that, because every time Harry even murmured, it physically pained me. I was so horribly in love with him, and I was getting nothing positive from it. All I had felt now for months was absent, hollow, disorientated and miserable. It was so silly, because it wasn’t like Harry being so kind and wonderful and buying my mum bloody flowers upset me. I’d get this momentary burst of happiness just admiring him, then that burst would turn into a sting, almost like the burst was the sound of gun and sting was the bullet piercing through me. “I’m a very good house guest.” He grinned. “And I also grew up with two dads who insisted that if opportunity ever knocked, I should buy a woman flowers. I spoke to Kev and he said this was opportunity knocking.” “I swear, sometimes it’s like you’re trying to torture me.” “What do you mean?” He asked. I’d said that without thinking for even a split second. Harry had this extremely confused look on his face at first, but then whilst I was trying to think up some kind of excuse for what I had just said, the realisation dawned over his face the true meaning of my words. “Never mind. I’m gunna go to bed, I’m shattered.” I huffed. “You coming? Going? Well… Are you-” “Yeah. Yeah, yeah it’s late.” He was trying to brush past it as much as I was. “Where’s um… Where’s the spare room?” “Next to mine.” “Okay. Yeah. Well. Okay, lets call it a night.” We both downed our brews in perfect unison, experts when it came to downing drinks thanks to Zayn, but at least this one didn’t have the after-kick we were used to. But I would give anything to have the bitter taste of a shot rather than the bitter taste of my words. We both went upstairs in a bit of a hurry, and I just kept quietly cursing to myself, because that was the only outlet I had until I could go into my room and just scream into my pillow, trying to figure out why the hell my mouth would run fucking wild like that sometimes. I opened the door to the spare room, throwing it wide open for him, trying to be quiet. “Well, this is you, so goodnight then. Goodnight.” He moved so he was stood in the doorway, and once again his eyebrows were low, and it seemed to be a more often occurrence that Harry just stared at me trying to work me out. I grabbed hold of the handle to my bedroom door, but before I could go anywhere he moved to me, grabbing hold of the top of my arm with a tight grip. “Harry!” I gasped. “You remember when I rang you over summer?” He was getting closer to me. “Which time?” “After the festival.” His grip loosened. “You… You ignored me.” “Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I remember. Why?” “I was… I was going to ask you, if you liked me.” “What?” My eyes went wide. “I was stood at Minnie’s front door. Stood at her front fucking door.” He was panting. “All I wanted… was an answer. Because… Because I knew if you said yes, if you had told me then that you liked me, I wouldn’t be with Minnie.” I’d never felt so sick in my life. I could barely understand what he was saying. All I knew, was that I was finally hearing what I had wanted to hear for so long. I knew it was happening at the same time as not knowing what to expect. My head was a mess. “I… I don’t know-” “And when you told me that you loved me… I was so fucking mad at you, because I knew that if you had just fucking answered when I rang that… we would be together. Now how many wasted months do we have?” My head was spinning. I didn’t think I could possibly be hearing him right because this was like Harry telling me that the pain of unrequited love I had been feeling for so long was actually completely fictional, and that just couldn’t be true. Because as much as I had been hating that kind of love, it was now a comfort zone to me. I was familiar with it. I knew it well and I had learnt to live in it. “I’m confused.” I whispered breathlessly. He went quiet, and as he moved closer to me, I moved backwards. I was totally breathless, disordered by the closeness we were sharing, because it had been months since his face was this close to mine, since I had been able to study the exact placement of the brown flickers through his green eyes. He was quiet for so long, then just before he spoke, he placed his hand on my cheek, stroking his thumb under my eye. “I am in love with you, Pippa. I have been in love with you for longer than I’ve even liked you. I… I remember the exact moment I fell in love with you.” “No you’re not.” I gasped, no idea what else to say. “Last November. I hadn’t even lived with you a month. Me and Zayn… We went drinking, and then we got back and you started drinking with us. You-you drank too much and you threw up. I walked into your room and… and I found you like that and… I helped you. I sat on your bathroom floor with you, and helped you throw up. You were barely dressed, slumped between my legs… sitting against me like you belonged there. You were absolutely fucked, but you were still so witty. You were so funny and so sharp… How could I not fall in love with you?” I barely even remembered it happening, for obvious reasons. But what shocked me the most is that we weren’t even friends, not even close. It wasn’t until February when the two of us started getting on, and he was admitting that it was months before that he realised he felt something for me. Fuck, fuck he’d just told me he was in love with me fuck. “This doesn’t make any sense.” “I felt like I had to distance from you. I felt like you didn’t… want me.” He moved closer, backing me up against my bedroom door. “Because you always pulled away, and then you asked for space and… Minnie… She was like a decoy so I wouldn’t keep crawling into bed with you. And… I was just living out this fucking fantasy I used to have about her but… She’s not you. No one’s you. No one comes close. Even when you said that you loved me… all I could think was… I don’t deserve you. I don’t.” “Why don’t you deserve me?” I shuddered. “I just don’t, Pip. You’re fucking dreamlike. I can’t believe you’re in my life at all, never mind as more than a friend. I’m not worthy of that. I really don’t feel like I… deserve you. But I can’t help myself. I love you. I tried to forget, but I can’t. I love you. I’d do anything for you. I just…” He moved his hand to the back of my neck. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the closeness, lolling my head back. I was piecing together things that I didn’t even realise needed piecing. The missed call, the fact that Harry was with Minnie because he felt she was all he deserved. She was a fantasy he’d had since he was sixteen. He had tried to brush away feelings he had for me and then suddenly I tell him I love him even though I purposefully sent him all the wrong signals. In my attempts to deny my feelings, I created an enormous space between us, thinking I was helping myself, when really all I was doing was turning away from him and shunning his affections. I had literally forced him to think I didn’t care for him that way. I felt like such an idiot I just wanted to curl up into a ball and apologise to him for pushing him away when he felt that we were so close. I gripped my eyes so they were shut even tighter, scared my heart was on the verge of exploding. “Harry, I need you to think about what you’re saying.” I hushed. “What?” “I don’t think… I could survive, if you wake up tomorrow morning and regret this. If you wake up and realise that you want to be with Minnie and that you don’t really love me… I don’t know what I’d do...” “Pippa-” “If you say it again, I’ll believe you.” I stopped him. “If you say it again, that’s it. If you don’t say it again… we can pretend this never happened, and I won’t hold it against you, okay? So please think. Please just take a second and think before you say anything.” Without hesitation, he lifted his other hand and smothered my other cheek with it, leaving me locked between him, pressing his forehead against mine. “Pippa, I love you.” He spoke confidently. “Stay with me.” I demanded quickly. A tear slipped down my face, and he wiped it away as soon as he could. I didn’t want to cry. I really didn’t want to cry, because I felt like all I did was fucking cry, but his declaration was something I had never expected. Ever since I had started university, it felt like things were slowly just starting to go wrong for me. I loved university, but I wasn’t doing the course I wanted, my family had fallen apart and I had somehow fallen in love with a boy I used to hate. It seemed far too surreal that two of those things could flip on their heads in the space of a day. I was okay with the new fundamentals of my family, and Harry was there, his face just inches from mine, telling me he loved me in the same way that I loved him. Surreal didn’t even come close to the truth of the day. “Fuck.” He groaned, tenderly brushing my skin. “I want to. I really… really want to, but I can’t.” “Why not?” “Because I can’t… I can’t be the type of person who cheats on someone.” “So just hold me.” I begged. “That’s bad enough.” He sighed, his hot breath pouring over my skin. “Isn’t this bad enough?” “Yeah, it is! But I can’t take it any further than this. You know now, that’s the most important thing. I just… I can’t cheat, Pip. I’d never forgive myself.” I was so desperate to be with him, even if it was just to have his arms around me as I slept, even if it was just to share a bed with him, I just wanted even more proof that he loved me. I wanted to spend every single second I could moulded into his body, talking to him and touching him and finally just being with him. At the same time, him saying no to me and telling me he couldn’t cheat on her, only made me love him more. Even so, I finally plucked up the courage to return his gentle touch, running my hand through his curls and then softly pressing my fingertips against the back of his neck. “Okay.” I nodded. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” “Don’t be sorry.” He exhaled. “I’m just glad you know. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long.” “Harry-” “No. I should have never been with Minnie, and… the second you told me you loved me I should have… I’ve just been so confused, Pip. And… you-you deserve more than what I have to offer. You deserve more than me.” “That’s not your decision to make.” I scowled. “I know that. I know that now. I’m sorry. But, I feel like you’re better-” “Don’t, Harry.” I cut him short again. “You deserve the world.” “Then I’ll make you my world.” He whispered. He kissed my forehead, drawn out, his right-hand clutching at loose strands of my hair, inhaling me as I inhaled him, realising that every previous urge I’d had to kiss him was absolutely nothing compared to the urge I had in that moment. “I love you.” I smiled. “Fuck.” I felt his grin spread against my forehead. “I love you too.” “Okay. You’ve gotta go, I’m dying.” I giggled. I pushed him by his chest so we finally parted, but before he fell back, he pinched his middle finger and thumb against the palm and outside of my hand, making sure we were still touching as he pulled back to me just a little bit, biting his bottom lip as he smiled. “Okay.” He seemed so bashful. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.” “You will.” I blushed. “Can I say it again?” “Just once.” “I love you.” He grinned. “Go before I leap on you.” I pushed him again. “Go!” It was so difficult to end that conversation, because we knew we should have really been ending it in at least a kiss. It felt totally bizarre to have finally opened up and admitted that we were fucking in love with each other, and not to be kissing him. He winked at me, and let go of my hand, not looking away from me until he was in the spare bedroom, lightly and very slowly closing the door behind himself. I finally went into my room, and as soon as I was completely safe, I totally freaked out. I tried to do it as quietly as possible, but I was shaking and prancing all over the place and the elation I felt in that moment was something I had never experienced before and didn’t think I would ever experience again. It was euphoric. It took me at least ten minutes to calm down and get into bed, but once I did, I turned to face the wall that stood between me and Harry, tucking the sheets up tight as I stared to where I knew he would be, wondering if he was on the other side doing the same thing. I was in love, and finally with someone who loved me too.

#HAPPY SUNDAY #BB44 #1dff #Harry Styles

265 notes · View notes

cryptoriawebb · 7 years

Text

Guardians of the Galaxy: Vol.2 Review

Confession: I was hesitant going into this film.

I know I’m probably in the minority there, but it’s seemed to me, over the last couple of years, that Marvel has been trying and failing with their sequels (or threequels) to outdo their predecessors. I first noticed it with Thor 2; a cycle of unbalanced/inappropriate tone and only partially resonating character arcs. Don’t get me wrong, each movie is entertaining in its own way, but much like Pixar’s long-standing record for fresh and original, Marvel has this knack for presenting comic book movies in unusual ways. However, it’s been running for so long and so frequent now their ‘unusual’ has become ‘expected’ and it’s rare I’ve gone into one of their movies lately with more than half-hearted enthusiasm. Doctor Strange was the exception, but that’s purely because I’m partial to his character. And I did enjoy that movie, even if I would have liked a little more ground and a little less quirky. For me, personally, Guardians of the Galaxy 2 raised the bar again, and that’s not something I’ve really felt in a sequel since seeing Winter Soldier.

The beginning of the film felt a little disjointed, in both tone and scene transition. I’ll say right now I’ve never read a Guardians comic, I knew nothing about them before going to see the first film so I went into each one, blind. The tonal shift wasn’t as smooth as I personally would have liked between the flashback sequence and the fast-forward. Admittedly, the film as was such a ride as a whole that I’ve forgotten the exact details but: that first sequence with the Guardians began with an urgency that felt a little forced, even with the abrupt ‘time-transition’ card or whatever it’s called. It transitioned into something more humorous and light-hearted which did better match the opening scene, but for a little while there, I worried I was in for another Thor 2.

Speaking of the opening, I loved the decision to show the sequence from Groot’s point of view. Another unusual approach, just like the first film, and like the first film I think it did a pretty decent job (I say decent because again, they opened its predecessor with a similar stylistic approach.) Plus, who doesn’t love a pint-sized Groot?

From an aesthetic perspective, the Sovereign race fascinated me. So simple, yet I was completely drawn into their golden look. Made me think back to James Bond and an old story I heard about one of their movies (which in turn left me wondering what kind of makeup was used.) Speaking of makeup, I’m almost always more impressed by the practical vs computer generated ratio. Being a fan, as I am, of the old Hollywood era, I’m in awe of the sort of creatures artists can create with their own two hands. It’s literally giving life to a fantasy. Computers produce a cleaner effect but I don’t know…it just isn’t the same.

Also, and more from a nerd than critical perspective: I couldn’t take their battle methods entirely seriously, and I’m not sure I was supposed to. The set-up, the way they crowded around the one Sovereign pilot, even the battle sequence itself reminded me of an old-school arcade. I loved that. Strange, but it worked because it wasn’t overly emphasized.

Jumping ahead a bit (because it’s late and I can’t remember every detail) the only casting I found questionable was Stallone. I hate to say that because I grew up watching Rocky, I still go see Rocky movies, I love Stallone as an actor but I just don’t know if I was really feeling anything from him. I’m sure he tried, but that spark I saw in so many other character’s eyes wasn’t in his. His lines didn’t register deep within his character’s heart, because they were just that, lines. I haven’t seen Stallone in really anything else other than the Rocky movies, but I’m wondering now if he’s the kind of actor who’s good at one thing (the underdog athlete, the soldier) and nothing else. I hope that’s not the case. His appearance was a nice, nostalgic little surprise. I’d like to see more, but I want to feel it, too. So here’s hoping.

Now let’s talk about Kurt Russell. Damn, where’s he been hiding? That’s how you deliver a performance. I love loved his character, it’s so rare these days to find villains who not only don’t believe they’re villains but genuinely think they’re in the right. I guess X-men’s Apocalypse was a little like that, but his presentation came off more sinister, as opposed to Ego’s sincerity. I was discussing this with my family: Ego never lied to Quill, not once. He merely chose to partly answer and explain things. At least, that’s what I think. Unlike Apocalypse, or even Thor 2’s Malekith, Ego didn’t spend thousands of years in suspended sleep: he lived it. His age and disconnect mesh so well with his not-villain villainous plans, and Russell was so honest and genuine he captured that perfectly.

Yandu was actually my favorite surprise. From his killer montage-escape sequence to his heart-breaking confession at end, he definitely wins as the award for best highlight in my opinion. I can’t remember much of what he did in the first film, minus the backstory but I thought that carried over well to where we see him, when he’s first introduced in this one. We also, at least, I also, saw a little more, that defeat and stubborn streak when confronted. I always had this feeling, even in the first film, that he sort of saw Quill as his son, but it was so subtle before I wasn’t actually sure they were going to go that route. As the plot progressed and Yandu’s role increased I thought back on an earlier conversation between the Guardians of the Galaxy, and how Drax thought Yandu was Quill’s father earlier on. That’s definitely foreshadowing at its finest, yet I didn’t find it too obvious and I think that’s because of what I remembered of Yandu’s relationship with Quill from the last movie. That, and Drax tends to be the outrageous one used for outrageous humor; that little moment could have easily been used to capitalize on that, taken as a way to highlight Quill’s leftover rage towards Yandu for kidnapping and ‘ruining’ his childhood.

I actually cried when he died, which I never would have expected from a Guardians movie. The bond between him and Quill, as well as Chris Pratt’s ability to channel emotion through his eyes (a feat I’ve only seen a couple actors do with such intensity) made for a heartbreaking send-off, yet satisfying, at the same time. From a viewer perspective, I would have liked him to live, but looking critically, his character arc was complete by the end of the film; there wasn’t anywhere else to go that felt deserved. If anything (because I’ve seen this happen before) further development might have hindered his progress and tarnished this performance going forward, so I think, overall, death suited him.

What a death it was…I’m reminded, loosely, of It’s a Wonderful Life: there are glacier-wide differences between Yandu and George Bailey but they’re the same in that they’re the one man kicked around most of their life, forced to make the tough decisions despite the consequences, but in the end they’ve touched the lives of more people than they’ll ever know. I think Kraglin’s reaction to the funeral sums up Yandu better than I could. Side note though, I felt his relationship with Rocket definitely helped both characters.

Rocket on his own, though, I almost felt he backtracked from where we left him at the end of the first film. It could be that I’m misremembering but I felt like his gruff attitude (and likewise reception to it) didn’t feel as natural as it did the first go-round. I liked that characters weren’t just okay with it, because even close-knit families have limited tolerance towards insult. It just needed a bit of refining, or perhaps more build-up in order to really appreciate his character evolution. I do like that there was, and as the movie progressed, how he seemed to gradually accept that he cared about this group, and that was okay. I did think, those few “asshole” encounters aside, Rocket maintained a balance between that exasperated sarcasm and earnestness. Especially with Groot.

Backing up for a second, I’d just like to note I was pleasantly surprised by Kraglin’s character as well. I do want to go back and rewatch the first movie; when I do, I’ll look for his character. I wasn’t expecting someone with so minor a role to play such a large part in this film. I’m really glad he did. That doesn’t happen as nearly as often as I wish it did—it reminded me very vaguely of Galaxy Quest, and the “red shirt” character, there (because it’s been a very long time since I’ve seen that movie as well.) Minor characters experience their own share conflict: it’s nice we got to see that. I hope Kraglin sticks around for a third film.

Other character notes: Mantis was adorable. Her innocence and relationship with Drax, however strange, was touching in its own way. Loud and clunky Drax is the one the delicate Mantis bonds with and chooses to trust her secrets to I loved that. It’s unexpected, in true Guardian fashion. Nebula, too, I felt for much more in this movie. I’ve seen so many violent, angry characters claiming/with tragic backstories over the years, especially when it comes to the super-hero genre, it gets a little tiresome. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a lot to be said for that and I understand why the way they are (Magneto is one of my favorite characters) it’s just I’m usually more interested in the characters who appear more put together but who you can tell have suffered as well, even if they choose not to outwardly display it. That’s in part because I can relate to that but also because it’s almost more interesting to me. That said…I really felt for Nebula. Hearing what Thanos did to her, there’s no way I can ignore that and seeing her come undone was hard to watch. Maybe her confrontation and turnaround happened a bit quickly but she was forced along with them for most of the movie at different points. I suppose that would chip away at her rage eventually. That, and a crumbling god-planet. I’ll also say that, as opposed to Erik Lehnsherr, who I wish would just stay with the X-men, I’m glad Nebula wasn’t dissuaded from killing her father. She turned around, but not completely, and felt fitting for her state of mind. All that rage directed at Thanos now, it’ll be interesting to see when she next appears.

Gamora too, I’m glad had a lot more development, and I’m equally glad she expressed it indirectly, with the exception of her confrontation with Nebula. There was so much pain between them, so much shared pain despite coming from different sides. The scene itself was a bit expected, even Nebula’s confession she only wanted a sister; it worked for them, though. Without it, I don’t think there could have been any headway, especially because their entire arc is a very relied-on trope for siblings in conflict. On another note I’m so relieved to see an organic, slow-building romance in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. It’s there, it’s real but it’s not the most important part of their relationship. Family first, everything else comes with time. I’m so tired of people thinking one needs a romantic-interest in order to better sell a movie. I’ve seen so many super hero films bogged down by forced sub-plots and no chemistry, Gamora and Quill are a breath of fresh air.

I haven’t mentioned Peter Quill yet because, as the main character there’s a lot to say, and a lot that’s already seen on screen. As one of the most expressive characters you know and hear a lot of what he’s thinking as the story goes, more than anyone else, I’d say. His familial conflicts weren’t the most original, but it’s been a long time since I’ve seen it approached in a way that didn’t feel cliché or undeserved. Even his rage upon learning Ego killed his mother—which I’ve seen before (Anakin in Star Wars, Magneto in First Class, even Sasuke in the Naruto franchise—it felt so raw, but not the ‘bordering-on-villianous-transformation’ raw. Maybe that’s why it left a different impact. As I said before, Chris Pratt is incredibly gifted at displaying his emotion through his eyes. You really felt Quill explode inside, and because, maybe, he was the hero, you cheered a little when he charged at Ego. The same can be said for later in the film, when he tapped into his godly abilities. Yandu’s “I don’t control the arrow with my head” advice. That also made me think of First Class (the point between rage and serenity.) It didn’t matter though, because at this point, at least I think, you care enough about these characters and their bonds that you want Quill to win, even if he’s going to do it through a recycled trope. You want this human to pummel his all-powerful father, a father who’s caused so much death and destruction and you want this family to remain intact because dammit, they aren’t perfect, they aren’t all the best people but they deserve to belong.

Stepping away from the characters for a moment, my favorite sequence by far was Yandu and company’s escape. I’ve never seen so much death in a Marvel Studios movie. Maybe Age of Ultron, but nothing explicitly shown, and while that led to Civil War, no one died in that movie either. I’m not saying I want to see a death count, because I don’t, but you can’t call a movie Civil WAR and have no one die. The stakes were just so sub-par in that movie. So when Yandu killed what, two-hundred people with a single arrow, I was shocked. I’d gotten so used to the Cinematic Universe’s quirky humor buddy-buddy ‘let’s-sell-merchandise’ mantra I never would have expected that. Or the cavern of skeletons. This movie felt far more like a legitimate science fiction film than it did a super hero one, and I suppose in many ways, it is. I would like to mention though that this scene did not earn a favorite’s declaration because of the death. I don’t go see a film to watch characters die, as I said. The way this montage was shot and edited convinced me to hope for the rest of the film, that maybe it would be more than ‘trying too hard.’ I mean I enjoyed it, but that sequence made me believe this movie could stand on its own. I’d like to go back and see this movie again so I can better describe it. I will say I remember not only being entertained by the off-beat choices, but impressed by how seamless transitions were, how on par with the music; it was a montage, but it was a slightly manic montage, and those tend to succeed, or come across far too chaotic and messy. Or again, trying too hard.

I’d like to make one small note at the end of the film, and it is a small thing. There are a couple of tonal shifts in this movie that don’t work as well as they could (such as Mantis falling unconscious during the climactic battle—I appreciate what they were trying to do and I know I can be a sucker for the traditional that way but I just felt like it dampened the seriousness when you needed to feel it.) The ending of this movie, the jump from Yandu’s death to the credits, felt the same way. It was very abrupt, and really each time it happened felt as though the creative visionaries weren’t respecting the characters, or rather, downplaying their emotional significance. I’d have to see the movie again to say for sure, but I remember feeling as though not enough time was given to appreciate Yandu’s impact.

There were a lot of post-credit scenes as well. It’s been a while since I’ve seen a movie, especially a super hero one, where the post-credit scenes don’t take away from the movie’s tonal impact. Doctor Strange, for example; both scenes felt far too rushed, I would have liked to see them at the end of another movie, despite how little time there is until Ragnarok. I don’t particularly like feeling as though I MUST BE EXCITED RIGHT NOW, when I already was for this origin movie. I digress, all of Guardians’ scenes felt appropriate, and the easter eggs blended in. Even the ones I didn’t personally understand (simply for not having read the comics) I was able to figure out—from Stallone’s original Guardians to Adam’s loose introduction. I guess Marvel has plans beyond Infinity war after all. Oh, and teenage Groot! Totally unnecessary, but a lot of fun. I wonder how long it takes tree-creatures to grow up. Will we see Groot at that age when the Guardians return? Or perhaps he’ll finally be an adult again…I rather liked small Groot. Humorous, adorable, but not at all over the top. And the small and different ways the Guardians ‘parented’ him.

If I have anything left to say, I suppose it’s about Mister Stan Lee. Only in a Guardians movie could they get away with such an outrageous cameo, and I loved it. Fourth-wall-breaking seems to be a building trend; let’s hope no one gets carried away with it, however well it worked here. I do think the second appearance at the end was a little slow-moving, and that, hm…I’m not sure it worked as well as it could have, but is it really my place to critically analyze a Stan Lee cameo? The man’s ninety-four, and there to entertain us fans. I wanted to mention it but I’m fine with the way it turned out.

So yeah, I think that’s it, over all. If I see the movie again, I may write a follow-up, but for now, this sums up my thoughts pretty well. I do need to watch the original again, but as it is now I think I prefer this one. Don’t go in expecting the same thing, though, to anyone who hasn’t yet seen it; there’s more heart than humor, and it helps the movie stand out on its own.

#guardians of the galaxy #guardians of the galaxy volume 2 #gamora #peter quill #starlord #rocket #groot #drax the destroyer #yondu #ego #guardians of the galaxy volume 2 review #returnedtothecrypt

4 notes · View notes

recentanimenews · 6 years

Text

YOUR Favorite Anime Openings of 2018

The Anime Awards are approaching! With the nominations soon to be announced, we're in open season to speculate about which anime will, won't, or should be appearing in each category. We've been putting up a few of our own predictions, but I wanted to take a deeper dive on one of my favorite categories: anime openings! It's something uniquely anime, often neglected in western media and perhaps even becoming a thing of the past with streaming-only shows switching up their formating.

It's something I hope never goes away, since they're an open license both for the staff to deliver something truly creative outside the script of the show and an opportunity to be exposed to great musical artists. Openings are an art form that anime has down to a science, delivering 90-second bites that perfectly set the mood for the episode. To try a more data-driven approach to discovering the best opening, I've gathered together our Top 10 most viewed openings of the year!

10. Sword Art Online Alternative: Gun Gale Online - Ryusei by Eir Aoi

youtube

Maybe my biggest surprise on the list. Even with the advantage of its association with Sword Art Online, I wasn't sure if this series would get as much notice. Taking that away, it isn't otherwise surprising to see it up her. Eir Aoi absolutely delivered and the finally with the laser scopes turning the moon red was perfect.

9. Boruto: Naruto Next Generations - It’s All in the Game by Qyoto

youtube

This is probably the one I'm least sure of. It’s good, but I wouldn’t put it into my top 10. Curious about what appears to be some intentional resolution downsizing similar to Megalobox. Liked the inclusion of some Boruto and Shikadai fighting, which has become a rivalry of its own with several rematches at this point (pretty sure Shikadai is winning).

8. Black Clover - Black Rover by Vickeblanka

youtube

This might by my personal favorite opening of the year, but the list really isn’t about me. Vickeblanka put out a killer song to accompany some really awesome visual work that’s an excellent reflection of what makes Black Clover great, including plenty of goofs, an awesome original fight, and some hints about upcoming events.

7. Black Clover - Guess Who Is Back by Kumi Koda

youtube

Although I personally prefer Black Rover, I could watch the high-fashion flashing Black Bulls montage intro for hours. Also color-coded character intros are awesome and the transitions into split screens that would later be character team-ups in the water temple arc was some thematic perfection.

6. Fairy Tail Final Season - Power of the Dream by LOL

youtube

I’m actually really happy to see this one in here. The song in particular just feels so nostalgic for what amounts to a victory lap to cap off one of the most popular long-running shonen titles. Some great semi-serious and goofy shots of the entire crew. Really want more OPs by LOL.

5. ZOMBIE LAND SAGA - Adabana Necromancy by Franchouchou

youtube

I was a bit worried making a list based on YouTube views might skew the results toward the beginning of the year, which is why it’s especially satisfying to see ZOMBIE LAND SAGA up here. I lost it the first time I watched this opening. An indication of the offbeat music the series was planning on throwing at us and a wild sequence of visuals just as off-the-wall as the story.

4. GOBLIN SLAYER - Rightfully by Mili

youtube

I gotta say, I wasn’t really expecting this kind of opening going into Goblin Slayer. A nice, haunting melody by Mili with some awesome .hack throwback shots of blown up weapons next to their pint-sized wielders. The dice thing didn’t really work for me, but some really cool ideas with a great song.

3. Boruto: Naruto Next Generations - Lonely Go! by Brian the Sun

youtube

Easily the best OP of a series that’s been blessed with very good OPs and EDs. No surprise why it’s popular even outside of its attachment to one of the biggest long-running anime. It’s got Sad™ childhood shots of Team 7, an iconic cute moment from Himawari, and a ton of awesome fight animation.

2. DARLING in the FRANXX - KISS OF DEATH by Mika Nakashima and Hyde

youtube

DitF was a big production and they definitely didn’t skimp on the opening. Version 2 had a lot of cool additions to the original, mirroring many of the same shots with a new palette and some extra foreshadowing. The new piano accompaniment to Kiss of Death was a nice addition. Felt like someone in a suit should be playing a grand piano over water reflecting a bright blue sky.

1. Overlord III - VORACITY by MYTH & ROID

youtube

It’s Overlord. It’s MYTH & ROID. There are maids. It’s got everything. You could say the song was even hinting at Ainz’s final spell that capped off the season. Although, knowing Overlord, I’m pretty sure it was about something else...

There's our Top 10 openings of 2018. Were there any surprises? Any openings you feel deserve that number one spot? Maybe some non-CR openings you'd like to share? Let us know in the comments below!

---

Peter Fobian is an Associate Features Editor for Crunchyroll, author of Monthly Mangaka Spotlight, writer for Anime Academy, and contributor at Anime Feminist. You can follow him on Twitter @PeterFobian.

By: [email protected]

#Anime #News #Latest in Anime News by Crunchyroll!

0 notes

qualiteabullshit-blog · 7 years

Text

Pissing down memory lane

Another Friday night alone. He cracked open his sixth beer of the day and sat down on the sofa to enjoy another evening of bad decisions and regrets. He had gotten used to this, it had almost become a ritual. Get out of work at around 5, swing round the off-licence to grab a case of beer, maybe some whiskey if he was out. For most people this was a once a week type of deal, a way of destressing after a hard week at work. Not for him. It was now a daily occurrence, the cashier even joked about giving him a loyalty card, and would always have what he wanted ready for him. He hated being that predictable to someone he didn’t know. He wanted to stay mysterious, to appear as some guy just getting a few things. He wanted to be an extra, while the main star was saving the day. But he couldn’t bring himself to find another place. Besides, this one was only a 5-minute walk away, so when he eventually ran dry of his preferred poisons, he could easily restock. He always said to himself that he would stop. “I don’t need this to function, to live my life, to deal with what I’ve done in the past. I can quit anytime.” He convinced himself. Of course, it was just bullshit he said to make himself feel better. “I can quit any time.” “I’ll sort all this out next week.” “I can move on from them.” These lies where repeated in his head or to the ones that cared about him, which there were very few of now, nearly every day; he could never bring himself around to the fact that nothing was changing, nothing was improving.

He looked around his house, and only saw reminders of them. The kitchen where she lovingly prepared beautiful meals that only looked grey and boring to him. The fireplace where they used to sit and talk about everything and nothing. The corner where he would tell stories to her, listening to the music that was her laugh. The television where he would sit in front of, basking in its cold but inviting glow, while she nattered away about something unimportant like his drinking or his unemployment. He wished he could go back to those times, and shout at his former self for being such a blissful idiot. He took what he had for granted, he didn’t know what he was about lose, until it was taken from him. He missed them both so much. But they were gone forever.

His endless relationship with the bottle started 3 years ago. His depression was getting worse and worse. He had lost any care he had for anything, but this didn’t leave him as a fun free-spirited person. It left him with a husk of a life that he used to love. He looked at his wife and new born daughter with nothing but contempt and disdain, seeing their love through cold, dead eyes.

“Carrie didn’t love me really, she’s just a baby, she has no concept of it. “

“Kirstie was only here because of the kid, if things were any different she’d be gone, just like the rest of them.”

Every day he would say these things to himself, despite his wife and disproving them every time. Kirstie tried to help him in every way she thought she could. She took care of the baby, looked after the house, cooked and cleaned for him every day, gave him a shoulder to cry on when he needed it. But he never took her up on the offer, instead he receded into himself, consoling himself through mindless television and a cold bottle. She tried to convince him to see someone about his depression, something he had struggled with since the beginning of their relationship. A doctor, a therapist, one of his friends, anyone that he could talk to and get help. He never did, always saying that they wouldn’t care, that they would tell him to just man up and deal with it by himself. It’s what he had to do for everything else in his life, why not this as well?

Over time she had grown tired of trying to help him. Nothing was working, and she was starting to slip into the same lifestyle. She was unsatisfied with the relationship, with his attitude towards everything. He wasn’t interested in Carrie, he only saw her as a burden on his wallet and a portable shit machine. Whenever she tucked Carrie into bed for the night, she would sing her a lullaby, hoping that her dreams would be better than the life that had been handed to her. She looked at her peaceful face, as she twitched and fidgeted in her blissful state. She wasn’t going to grow up to be a healthy and happy child here, Kirstie knew that, but what could she do? She cared about Tim too much, and didn’t dare to think of what he would do to himself, or to her, if she tried to leave.

Four beers down, he was starting to feel nostalgic. Walking through the house, he walked into Carrie’s room. It was unchanged from the incident, only dustier and filled with reminders of what had happened. He cast his mind to that day. Kirstie had left to do something, he wasn’t listening. He was too busy watching the news, seeing the world slowly burn around him. She mentioned something about the kid but he guessed it meant check up on her soon. Five drinks down that night, he nodded off while Newsnight was on, a task achievable by almost everyone. He woke up suddenly to see a report about the Chilcot Report and a sudden realisation he hadn’t checked on Carrie. Something had felt off. She was usually crying or screaming, not loud enough though to not be drowned out by the tv. He walked into her room to be met with nothing but silence. Walking slowly to her crib so as to not wake her, he peeked over to see her sleeping peacefully. But something was wrong, she wasn’t moving. He poked her back, nothing. He shook her, nothing. He turned her around, and saw her once beautiful brown eyes, now wide open, cold, and lifeless. She had turned over in her sleep and suffocated herself with her own blanket. He panicked, trying to resuscitate her, trying to get some life back into her. But it was hopeless. Kirstie arrived back half an hour later, to see an ambulance and police car outside the house. She saw the paramedics carry a stretcher to the ambulance, and her husband outside talking to a policewoman.

“What’s going in?” she asked.

He started to cry, he looked like he had been crying for hours. “I’m sorry babe, I’m really sorry.”

“Where is Carrie? Where the fuck is my baby daughter?”

He looked towards the ambulance, then towards the ground.

“No, this isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. What the fuck did you do Tim?”

She wasn’t sure where to be angry or distraught. She figured a mixture of both was a good place to start.

On to the whiskey. He had run out of beer and decided that if this night was going to continue, he needed something stronger. He filled the glass to a level best described as too much for a human to handle. The smell, that which used to singe the back of his nose and make his stomach ache, now filled him with a warm comfort he had come to rely on. He walked back down the hall to the main bedroom. He let his fingers rub along the wall, tracing the dents left by the stretcher. Not much had changed since she left. Much like Carrie’s room, all the photos and paintings were still in the same place, only the dust level had changed. He picked up the photo that he had kept by his bedside since they moved in. Kirstie was in her beautiful white wedding dress, and he had managed to stuff himself into a tuxedo. They looked at each other with a gaze not seen in recent months, with smiles that had since faded into obscurity. He pressed his thumb over her face on the photo, stroking it like he used to. Tracing her cheekbones, he felt closer to her in those moments than ever before. Or after. He put the photo back, face down on the bedside table, before the torrent of emotion inevitably overcame him.

He looked for a jacket or a coat in his wardrobe. He was behind on his bills, electricity and heating being replaced as life’s necessities by beer, whiskey, and more beer, so he needed to wrap up warm during the night. He found his old leather jacket, the one he used to wear when going out during uni. It was still in good shape, despite being the victim of a few drunken fights and maybe a kebab or two being thrown at it. He missed those days, the simple times when he could roll out of bed, into some maybe clean clothes, and go out and enjoy his life. There no real responsibilities, no worries, the only reason he had to be up in the afternoon was to go out again. He led that life style for a few years, as any student does. Sure, he fell behind on his work, but somehow, he always managed to work something out and still do well. He wished the same could be said for everything in his life. It wasn’t until he met Kirstie that he changed. For a while anyway.

They were at the pub, for the third time that week, and it was only a Tuesday. They decided to have a quiet night, as quiet as the three of them could manage. John suggested the pub quiz, something which took the fancy of both Tim and Chris. They were good at pub quizzes. Scratch that, they were excellent. For the first half, they were always the ones on top, the three of them spreading their knowledge thick over nearly every subject. The second half however, was a different story. John always decided that some shots would help liven things up, and if drinking let them be this successful, surely even more of it would help. However, it only led to a few arguments and uncertainty over whether Pope John Paul II was a member of the Led Zepplin.

“I swear he was, he played bass for ‘em didn’t he?” slurred John.

“That’s John Paul Jones you muppet. Now go get us another pint before you start sprouting off more shite. “ Replied Tim.

“He probably thinks Tony Blair was a member of the sugar babes.” Remarked Chris.

“Honestly the amount of times their line-up has changed I’m surprised none of us have been asked yet”

This night was no different. Things had started off well, a few easy questions on sport and politics, which Chris and John took care off, leaving the music questions to Tim.

“Next question, “The quiz master announced, “Who topped the UK singles chart with the song Shut uppa-“

Just as he was about to finish, Tim was suddenly distracted by a life changing event walking through the door. It had come dressed in dark blue, skin tight jeans, with a black leather jacket and hair of a similar shade. Stunning was a word he would have said, if he could speak English at the time.

“OI prick, what’s the answer?” asked John.

“Uhh what was the question again?”

“Who sung ‘Shut upp your face’?”

“oh, Joe Dolce I think. I’ll be back in a minute.”

He hurried off across the pub, trying to find where this woman had sat down. He looked everywhere, upstairs by the pool tables, downstairs by the main bar. He couldn’t find her, and to soften the defeat, he pulled up a stool by the main bar, and asked for another pint.

“Pint of Guinness please. “

“Make that two.” Out of nowhere, the girl with the raven black hair had appeared beside him.

“I didn’t take you for a fan of Guinness” he said.

“And I didn’t take you for the stalker type. But here we are”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Oh please, I saw you with your jaw nearly on the floor when I walked in, I figured when I saw you running around this place like a headless chicken on speed that you were looking for me. “

“Guilty as charged.”

The bar man handed them their drinks, each paying for their own.

“How about a toast?”

“To headless chickens? “ She said.

“To headless chickens.”

Over the course of the night they talked and drank and laughed and drank some more. She wasn’t just a pretty face. She had a wicked sense of humour, almost morbid at times, and he had completely fallen for it. Not that her face was anything to ignore. Her sharp, thin lips in a shade so red that made her skin look even paler than it was. He wasn’t one to notice eyebrows on a woman, but hers were a different matter. And her hair, the deepest shade of black, like a void he wanted to get lost in. There was no escaping her, and he was more than happy to be trapped.

He returned the jacket to where it lay, beside shoes boxes filled with other forgotten memories, totems of a life he wanted back. But there was no getting back of something he had thrown away so foolishly. There was no chance of her forgiving him. No chance of having her back in his arms.

He stumbled out of the bedroom and back into the hall. He stopped to take notice of the frames hanging on the wall. His degree in engineering, their wedding photo, a picture of him holding Carrie moments after she was born. It pained him to look back at these memories and see all the opportunities he had wasted over the years. He took both for granted, how could he be such an idiot?

1 year before the incident

Tim was heading home from another dull day at work. The company was desperately trying to get hold of a new contract, and so they were halting any new development being done across the plant. He spent his days playing solitaire, browsing the same sites he always visited, seeing the same posts he had seen 5 seconds earlier. It was beyond tedious, mind-numbing even. The only good part of his day was heading out of the gates, towards his home, which was only a 5-minute drive away. He looked forward to smelling what Kirstie had decided to cook, but as he walked into the flat, he was met with nothing but the smell of scented candles. Silence had fallen over the home. He sat his bag down by the door, hung up his coat, and walked through this alien feeling place.

“Hi, we need to talk.” Kirstie said. She was sitting on the sofa, looking like a ghost. Sure, she naturally had pale skin, but she looked almost anaemic.

“Hey babe, has something happened? What’s wrong?” He asked.

“Just come and sit down for a bit.”

He sat down beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder, desperately trying to comfort her.

“What’s wrong?”

“Well I don’t really know if something is wrong or not.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just, look at this.”

She handed him a long plastic device, he thought it was something an alien would use to probe someone. Except it wasn’t quite something like that. It was a pregnancy test.

“Uh ok, what does it say?”

“Oh come on, you’d think I’d look like this if it was negative? I’m fucking pregnant!”

Why now? They didn’t have any savings, Kirstie was struggling to find work as a freelance painter. Strangely enough in this economy people didn’t really want to buy a wannabe Salvador Dali’s paintings. The firm was cutting down on employees, and he felt his name was next on the list.

“We’re going to have a baby!” He exulted.

“Wait, so you’re not mad?”

“No of course not, why would I be? This is wonderful! “

“Oh thank god, I was worried you wouldn’t want it and just leave me or want to get rid of it or or… “

“Hey, calm down. It’s alright, everything is going to be alright. Great, even. “

He kissed her forehead, and pressed his against it, looking into her eyes, that always helped ground her in reality. She had troubles with anxiety in the past, but he had seen enough of it to help her when it peaked. They spent the rest of the night planning for the new baby. Picking out names, looking at carriers and cots, fantasising over what their future was going to be like.

He was back in the living room now, in the spot where they had that conversation. He longed for the times when he was hopeful for the future, where every major point in his life wasn’t met by cynicism and blind hate. He missed the times where they would cuddle on the sofa, hands intertwined while they watched the world either burn or flourish, depending on what they were watching. She would endure the times when he watched engineering documentaries or music shows, and he would endure whatever drivel she used to watch. Later they would spend the evening not on the couch, but putting Carrie to bed, watching her slowly drift off into an eternal slumber. Even if she was going to be up 5 hours later wanting fed or had crapped herself. Still, it was nice.

3 Months Before the Incident

“Mr Monroe, they’re ready to see you.” The Nurse said.

He had been waiting outside for what felt like an eternity. He didn’t want to see the procedure, he had been scarred before in high school during science class. He walked through the sterile corridor, and was met with a sight he wouldn’t forget. His beautiful wife, holding his beautiful daughter. He marked that day in his head as the day he would change. He was going to work harder, stop drinking, finally get his life together. If not for him, for the people he cared for the most, a list now one entry longer.

“How are my two girls?”

“Well this one wants a gin but I guess morphine will have to do. And this one has already screamed her little lungs out.”

“Can I hold her?”

“Yeah of course. “ She smiled, glad to be able to rest properly, glad that her best friend was finally here.

He wrestled control of the bundle of blankets being handed to him. But now he was finally holding is baby daughter.

“She’s beautiful. You’re beautiful, I’m so proud of you. “

She looked up at her knew family, eyes barely able to stay open, and let out a smile.

He looked around the now dimly lit living room. Night had fallen over the city, the room now only lit by the streetlamps and the rare passing car. He could make out the outlines of the bits of furniture. The mantel piece, where another wedding photo sat. A toy bear, given to Carrie a few days after she was born. It never left her side. He wanted to keep it, as a reminder of her. A reminder of when he thought everything was going to be fine. What a fool, he thought.

0 notes

auntiegilli · 7 years

Text

There are many things I love about Bristol’s art scene from the walls to the galleries and the enthusiasm for local cafes, bars and pubs to support local artists from all genres. I had a chat with Street artist Klue Wone about his new new exhibition opening tonight at The Farm Pub in St Werbergs Bristol.

About his new exhibition Klue says:

‘The name of the exhibition is ‘Naturally’ which can be interpreted how one wishes. I see it as a double / triple meaning but is for people to figure out for themselves. I guess the theme is nature in a way, it’s about transcendental escape and inner peace and calm. I feel is that I’ve dealt with allot of stress , anxiety and depression before and am exploring the more meditative and spiritual aspects of my work.’

And about his work he adds:

‘My work is all freestyle. I work like this so I can be interested in the final piece and find little details I wouldn’t expect each time I look at it. I’ve never had any interest in painting something perfectly executed like most. For me it’s way more interesting to paint a piece that’s irregular and fragmented as it leaves bits to be discovered.’

Klue says he has always been ‘into art and creating stuff from a young age’. His first love and first drawing he ever did when he was 2 was a ninja turtle. ‘Cartoon and comic book characters was def the start, and video games. Crash bandicoot is the one, probably didn’t inspire me much to draw initially to be fair but gotta name drop him while getting nostalgic.’

He first developed an interest graffiti at about eleven from noticing around him and being fascinated by the style of the lettering. ‘Then that lead me to ask for a book on graffiti which was graffiti world and the first page opening that book seeing a piece by totem 2 was basically my brain melt epiphany moment when I realised I wanted to be in this for life.’

The influences on his work are diverse. He says ‘Magritte , biker mice from mars , Escher, South Park , totem2 , crash bandicoot , daim , marvel comics , skateboarding , hip hop , rollerblading , fractal patterns and an active imagination. Bristol wise I’m a fan of everyone really but for me epok , bonzai , xenz and 3dom are the ones who’ve really inspired me to try and keep pushing my style forward. I’m also a big miller fan but that’s more recently. And separately I’m a big fan of Kim gung gi. He’s incredible.’

When asked what other artists thought of his work he said:

‘I’m not entirely sure what other artists really say or think about my work to be honest. Mostly to my face it’s positive. I know a lot of people lean much more toward the more crisp graphic look and I go for a much more expressive irregular look but that’s just taste and preference in my opinion. But hopefully people appreciate your stuff and what your trying to do. The nicest things anyone’s said is saying I’m world class because that’s what I wanna be and I’ve also been called the best abstract artist in Bristol which is nice. Maybe true.’

When asked what other artists thought of his work he said:

About the art scene and his work he says: ‘The trouble with this whole art thing is fine art feels too pretentious and graffiti and streetart largely lacks anything deep. Just one liner concepts and opposites juxtaposed and then probably recycled a few hundred times. But hopefully I will have brought something new to the table at some point for better or worse rather than playing it safe and unconsciously rehashing classics with no sense of irony.’

In preparing for the show he said about his new work in the studio ‘I guess in a way I suppose I’m getting more transcendental for lack of a better word with my work and trying to portray the feeling of escapism I relish from painting and using my imagination rather than executing something perfectly. I.e my name. I’ve always been far more interested in imperfections. Essentially I’m trying to surprise myself and I aim to look at my work at the end and be able to look at the details for hours and hours and think “how did I do this?” ‘

He continues: ‘That keeps me interested but It’s not always the most strait forward way or cleverest way of working. Many have been unimpressed to be fair, so I guess what I’m trying to say is what I’m working in is improving my work and still being surprised by the improvement even though it’s obvious.’

So if you fancy a pint and a painting in Bristol why not pop down to The Farm Pub this month.

Klue’s exhibition ‘Naturally’ 2 June – 30 June 2017. The Farm Pub, St Werburgs, Hopetound Road, Bristol. The pub is open 12 pm – 12 am

Meet the artist Friday 2 June.

Pint and a painting – Klue Wone’s new exhibition ‘Naturally’ at The Farm Pub St Werbergs, Bristol There are many things I love about Bristol's art scene from the walls to the galleries and the enthusiasm for local cafes, bars and pubs to support local artists from all genres.

#Art #Bristol #Klue Wone #street art

0 notes

grantplant · 7 years

Text

Tradition

I can’t read that word without hearing Tevye from Fiddler on the Roof. Come to think of it, there are a number of things I can’t read without singing Fiddler on the Roof. Mira’s book If I Were a Kitty, for example. (If I were a kit-ty/ meowmeowmeowmeowmeowmeowmeowmeowmeowmeowmeowmeowmeowmeowmeow/ All day long I’d meowmeowmeowmeowmeow/ If I were a kit-ty CAT/ Meow!)

Anyway, tradition. (Or traditiooooooon!)

Yesterday was Sechseläuten, the Zurich festival at which a snowman (the Böögg), packed with explosives, well, explodes, and winter is thus vanquished. Or that is the idea. The length of time it takes for the snowman’s head to combust is a predictor for the quality of summer we should expect. Quick and fiery = good summer, slow and smoldering = bad summer. Records show that yesterday, the snowman lost his head just shy of 10 minutes. As compared to 2016’s dismal 43 minutes and 34 seconds (it was raining), yesterday indicates a great summer ahead… except I’m looking at a snow forecast for the next three days. I guess using pyrotechnics—or rodents, for that matter—to predict weather is an inexact science.

This is our fifth year living in the Canton of Zurich, and the fifth time we haven’t attended Sechseläuten. How can this be, you may wonder. Someone has gone to the trouble of building a giant snowman, which they will blow to pieces, and we are too busy to go watch all of Zurich parade around in costume and on horseback while it burns? Sigh. I know. We have valid excuses for three of those five years (rain, travel, too pregnant to play) but, really, we should have witnessed this spectacle by now.

Just as we should’ve probably gone to Knabenschiessen, a shooting competition for 13 to 17 year olds.

Or Räbechilbi, the turnip festival in which everyone carves turnips in glorification of this root vegetable.

Neither have we been to an alphorn festival or heard professional yodelers which, after four and a half years, feels borderline criminal.

Though we have attended Swiss carnival, called Fasnacht (admittedly, by accident), skirted the edges of Street Parade, rode the ferris wheel and eaten Tibetan momo at Züri Fäscht, travelled to a mountain village to see the cows descend for winter, visited a tractor festival, had a pint or three for Okoberfest, and watched fireworks countless times for Swiss National Day, only the fireworks have been a more-than-once event, and then only because they are all but unavoidable anywhere in the country. I could see them from my bed.

So, yeah… we are…. not joiners. I am not terribly proud of this, but neither is this anything new. In almost nine years in the Bay Area, I never once went to Bay to Breakers, or Pride, or a Giants parade, or Halloween in the Castro when that was still a thing. I did other things, just not those things.

If I were to curl up on an analyst’s couch with you in an effort to diagnose this aversion to what some might call mandatory but I deem mostly missable, I’d probably recall my Freshman year at UGA. I won the football lottery—kind of a huge deal–and had a ticket to all the home games. The first time, a girl sitting next to me threw up on my feet until her boyfriend whipped off his cap and caught the rest. The last time, I had a panic attack in the bleachers from the crush of people, the noise, and the heat. I gave my remaining ticket to my best friend, so she was there for the Tennessee game when, after the Bulldogs won, fans inexplicably pulled down the goal post and paraded it through town. I wasn’t sorry to miss that.

That football season was pretty much the end of me and crowds. And me and noise, for that matter. Clapping and drums make me blinky, loud music makes my heart race, crowds make me panicky, and any combination therein makes me hyperventilate. Very, very cool. I have ever been hip.

Here in Switzerland, you might think, the circumstances are tamer. What if you’re in a crush of cows, say, and not frat boys? What if the music being amplified is, say, polka or alphorn or yodeling? Well friend, gunshots are loud, even when the shooter is a Swiss teenager. An exploding snowman is still an explosion. And Street Parade, by any country’s standards, is just foul. (That came closest of all to having a sorority sister barf down my leg. Never wear flip flops to Street Parade. Or a college football game. Or around cows. Just don’t.)

For Christmas, my mom got us this lovely book called Our Family Traditions.

As yet, it’s empty, but even as I ruminate on what won’t go in there, I am obviously thinking a lot about what will. So many family traditions, in both Pat’s and my families, revolve around food. And it’s early days in the life of Mira and our family as three. I hardly think pureed carrots or mashed banana are going to become a holiday custom of any kind. It’ll be at least another year before we bust out The Sound of Music for a nostalgic pre-Christmas viewing.

But neither are we sitting on our duffs waiting until she’s able to order from a menu before we try and make some Grant-Bowen family memories. She may not have had a first Halloween costume (I still regret this) but by God, she wore her ugly Christmas sweater to go pick out a tree.

Over Easter, Pat got a generous four-and-a-half day weekend so we rented a car, booked a hotel room, and set out for two nights in Interlaken. We have sworn to ourselves that we won’t leave this country without having seen its major cities and landmarks. To that end, we had a lovely afternoon exploring the mountain village of Murren at the base of the Jungfrau, which has long been on our list. By midnight that night, though, we were on the road, driving back to Zurich with a sick, screamy infant. She had cried so hard every time she woke in the hotel room that she was hicupping. (Gee, I wonder who she gets the hysterics from.) So we spent Easter at home in our pjs. Mira got an animatronic bunny and chick, Pat and I ate rack of lamb for dinner. That’s tradition enough for me.

Whatever worked on our weekend jaunt to London in January, or the two weeks we spent in California last November, we didn’t have that luck or mojo over Easter weekend. In two weeks’ time, we leave for an extended US tour spanning Chicago and Des Moines, Atlanta and the Florida panhandle. I am praying for a minimum of sickness and screaming, no hyperventilating, and drumming or gun shots only when strictly necessary. I will be wearing flip flops at times, but I will also be on my guard for overserved revelers and overwatered livestock alike.

Please wish us Godspeed, clean feet, and a full, hyperventilation-free book of family memories.

0 notes

ranshackle-blog · 7 years

Photo

After already purchasing the essentials (bread, milk, chocolate, beer) the previous day at Woolworths, I stumbled in with the few dollars I could scrounge together to buy the first thing that jumped out at me in the latest promotions catalogue. I decided to record the stimulating experience to my Snapchat story to brighten my adoring friends lives with another enthralling exposé of the ‘day in the life’ of boring old me.

After flicking through the catalogue I stumbled across my old friend, Twisties, who I haven’t embraced in what felt like years. We’ve had a long love affair stemming back to early childhood nights sitting at the bar at The Durham with a bag of Twisties and pint of pink milk. The exposure to Twisties from a young age has embedded likability towards the product and a meaningful nostalgic ritual. Seeing the irresistible yellow packaging had my heart and mind souring back to the many evenings spent at the bar with stained Twistie fingers, made even more alluring with a big ½ price egg snuggled next to it. I was completely and utterly guttered to discover that a lot of other people shared my passion for Twisties and the shelf was completely bare – besides the other flavors in the Twisties range which are sacrilegious to their flagship, Cheese, and are essentially poison.

youtube

As the saying goes, ‘last in, no Twisties’, and I was definitely on the loosing end of a high demand for ½ price Twisties, where consumers felt a sense of urgency to take all of the goodies and leave me for dead. Where to now? I had to completely revaluate my needs and desires, what I was going to spend my coins on, my entire life. I started thinking more rationally. What do I really need? I picked up the catalogue with a new lease on life, skimmed pasted the ‘drinks & snacks’ (new year, new me baby), past ‘Pantry’ and ‘Household’ (domesti-catch-you-later) to ‘Health & Beauty’ where a bloody big ½ price egg took center stage along side a hypnotizing bunny that stared into my soul and screamed ‘YOU CAN’T ARGUE WITH ½ PRICE’. Half-price Oral-B Toothpaste? I was sold. Just for good measure I flicked the page and found a Colgate toothbrush spooning a big ½ price egg. I was running very low on toothpaste and my toothbrush was starting to look a bit sad so I grabbed the items and headed for home.

youtube

After breaking in the Oral-B toothpaste and the Colgate toothbrush I thought about how the promotion had built brand equity through my experience with new products. I habitually respond to price incentives, if something is ½ price or less, I often consider buying it, even if I would never contemplate buying the product if it wasn’t discounted. It is fair to say that my constant brand switching has resulted in a decrease in brand loyalty. However, constantly adjusting the price of the Colgate and Oral-B products helps to encourage people to try their brands and build brand equity. I already had a awareness of both these brands through their alternative marketing activates, by offering their products in a sales catalogue added value to their brand. I didn’t consider the benefits of the product or the price in comparison to the competition. The familiar brand and ½ price label trumped the everyday low pricing of alternative products. It’s fair to say that anything in the catalogue next to a ½ price egg definitely suckered me in. The sales items also changed my purchasing behavior as previously I would never consider buying an ‘extra soft’ toothbrush. Would you scrub your pots and bans with a paper towel or scourer? But I guess my teeth aren’t pots and pans and ‘extra soft’ was a therapeutic change to the medium Colgate toothbrushes I usually purchase. By sharing my positive experience with my friends via social media this also evokes positive feelings towards the brand and acts as another form of supporting marketing material to increase brand equity.

0 notes

thefifthdayjournal · 8 years

Photo

i like your tights, sarah: atrocity boy meets austin collings

photography by steve hunt

Austin Collings is an author who narrates the stifling ambivalence of Northern life; Atrocity Boy documents debauchery usually relating to the Mancunian label Sways. The following encounter was first published in a chapbook sold at The White Hotel in Salford – here it appears in digital form for the first time.

- - -

It all starts rather ominously, late one Friday afternoon in August. Right now, the people of this city should rightly be spilling out of offices and schools into sun-drenched beer gardens and parks; but this is Manchester, England, and the place has lapsed into unseasonal self-parody, sulking under a pall of grey skies and heavy rain. The tram network has ground to a halt. Commuters stare up at the departure boards, muttering of suicide.

I’m on my way to meet Austin Collings, the author best known for co-writing Mark E. Smith’s gleefully acerbic memoir, Renegade. Austin is also a friend and I’m not entirely sure what to expect from tonight. He initially greeted the idea of an interview with customary enthusiasm. ‘Brilliant!’ he said, when I put it to him. ‘It’ll be like when Ted Bundy represented himself in court!’ While getting one-liners out of him won’t be a problem, my worry is that I should be aiming to reveal the real Austin Collings: the man behind the James Joyce specs. In interviews you’re supposed to dig beneath the surface of your subject. But Austin is deeply uncomfortable with conversations that are in any way coloured by human emotion, his stock response being to wrinkle his brow and shake his head, ‘We’re not on The Jeremy Kyle Show, pal.’

As the replacement bus dawdles down Oxford Road I get twitchy. I picture him sitting in the pub on his own, supping his pint lugubriously: an image which in fact perfectly encapsulates his latest collection of stories, The Myth of Brilliant Summers, and their pervasive sense of disappointment, solitude and dole queue gloom. Like Austin right now, it’s a collection that’s longing for company.

The interview eventually takes place in a city centre flat in a room lined with foreign paperbacks and art objects. Girls congregate in the kitchen, dressed in black and drinking gin. Austin sits down on the lingerie pink chaise longue and picks up a copy of Vincent Van Gogh’s Letters from the coffee table.

‘The sadness will last forever,’ he quotes. I nod my head, getting the reference. ‘A bit like soy sauce stains.’ I furrow my brow. ‘That’s why I bought Helen this.’ He waves the book in my direction. ‘Because of the soy sauce. I put soy sauce on her bed.’ The operative word here being put.

Throughout the interview Austin laughs regularly and with gusto. The darker the subject, the louder the laugh. His conversation oscillates between brutal sincerity and sincere self-mockery, keen to get his points across but never wanting to seem overly self-important. His face is pure pantomime, schoolboy-like and cartoonish. As we talk, our host’s tiny black and white kitten, Dante, climbs over us, biting our arms and leaping from person to person: a social butterfly not at all in keeping with his Catholic namesake.

I begin by asking Austin if he can remember how he got the original idea for the collection.

Austin Collings: The first story was written when I was doing a book with George Shaw, the artist, back in 2011. He was up for the Turner Prize at the time. So I’ve had the title, at least, for a while. The idea was to write about people from underprivileged backgrounds but without wallowing in it. You try and elevate the situation, document it seriously. There’s a more personal side to it as well. I see it as an exorcism of feelings and places … Maybe at the end of all this I’ll turn green and start vomiting!

Atrocity Boy: Again … The location of the stories is something I wanted to ask you about actually. You don’t really know where or when most of them are set. The landscape seems to be northern and generally bleak, but there’s a sense that the things you’re writing about could happen anytime, anywhere.

Austin Collings: I think I’ve nicked that from Blue Velvet. That film was released in 1986 but it could be 1956 or 1976. There are all these different timeframes … And I guess if you absorb all these films and books and cultural references, you’re never really sure what time it is anyway … Especially when you drink heavily.

[Sips rum and coke.]

Hopefully, it has the feeling of a particularly jarring hangover.

Atrocity Boy: It’s interesting that you make that film reference. The book will obviously be categorised as a collection of stories but they’re not really stories in a way. They’re more like episodes, fragments.

Austin Collings: The idea was to make it feel like the opening of a film, over and over again. I don’t see what the problem is with that. It’s always the best bit, isn’t it?

Atrocity Boy: What about music? Do you see any parallels between music and your writing?

Austin Collings: Not really. I find it very interesting that nowadays bands and writers continually talk about how they were influenced by great writers and great bands. Obviously, in talking about them, they want to suggest that they themselves are of that quality. But for me, it’s not about that. It’s not even about the songs. Music is about the characters. Smith is fascinating, like a sci-fi character. It’s like he’s just been beamed down from Mars! The music is terrific. The Fall are probably my favourite band. But only since the book have they become that. I just like the way that certain people did things … I liked Oasis! I thought they were funny. It’s theatre, isn’t it?

Atrocity Boy: I guess you probably want to steer clear of talking about literary influences, then, but the subject matter of these stories reminds me of early Ian McEwan, especially First Love, Last Rites, with all these deprived English towns and vulnerable children … And the way the writing puts you on edge.

Austin Collings: There was a lot of paedophilia where I grew up. They’ve knocked down the houses now so it’s all hushed up, like they knock down serial killers’ houses. But you’d always see a car pull up … There’d be about five or six Datsuns or Fiats or Escorts outside and you’d see some bloke with his arm around Belinda. What annoyed me was that these were the girls who I wanted to get off with! But these older blokes were getting off with them. And the parents didn’t really mind. They didn’t bat an eyelid. I’d say it was rampant … There was Mr Davenport who was the Design and Technology teacher. He said, ‘I’ll help you put your apron on.’ And he’d just come over and put his arm round the girls. Obviously, you’re looking, and you can see the bra through the see-through cotton shirt, and at the time I really fancied them, or some of them — some of them were hideous … You’ve not seen my school photo have you?

Atrocity Boy: I don’t think so.

Austin Collings: I used to dress like a bit of a dandy. I’d wear Chelsea boots and if you look at this school photo you’ll see me at the end. I’m looking in completely the opposite direction, thinking not only do I need to get out of this school, I need to get out of this photograph … I liked films like Billy Liar. In my mind, I’ve been doing this interview for years. I’d always think about the interviews I was going to do in the years to come and the films I was going to make and who was going to be in them, so when I hit it really big I’m going to go for it! I’m going to buy a massive mansion in LA with a cock-shaped swimming pool!

Atrocity Boy: So, fame and fortune, is that why you write?

Austin Collings: Of course! I’d love this book to sell loads, like Fifty Shades of Austin Collings! I’d be very satisfied if there were women walking down the street doing what they do to Mötley Crüe, lifting up their shirts, having a grope. Letting me have a grope … Obviously I’m joking, but I was brought up without any money in a particularly chaotic background and a very dark place. And writers rarely talk about things like poverty, needing to make a living … Not that this is a nostalgic thing.

Atrocity Boy: Does nostalgia comes into it?

Austin Collings: I don’t mind nostalgia.

Atrocity Boy: Neither do I. Some forms of emotion have got a bad name: nostalgia, sentimentality, shock … Writing is always derided when it’s seen to be done just for shock. That’s the cliché. But I like being shocked. It’s hard to do these days. I don’t see why it’s become the lowest common denominator. It’s one of the things I value about art.

Austin Collings: I think that’s what early McEwan was getting at. The thing about shock is that it’s memorable.

Atrocity Boy: So is nostalgia. They’re both playing on memory in a powerful way.

Austin Collings: This interview is starting to feel more and more like a particularly turgid episode of The Culture Show.

Atrocity Boy: But I’m still trying to understand where your writing comes from. You once told me that Mark E. Smith said he wrote ‘out of spite’. What do you write out of?

Austin Collings: It was my friend John’s birthday the other day. He came back to mine and I nearly killed him by taking him up the hill. He was sweating heavily. I had to make him two cups of tea with four sugars in each. That was his birthday! He said, ‘It doesn’t matter what you read, out of anything that you do’ — and I’ve never really thought about this — ‘there’s always a sense of wonder, no matter how dark it is.’ I like that description of it. And I don’t really want to explore it any further. It’s the only magic I’ve got. Everything else I can fathom out. I’d rather leave it mysterious to myself.

Atrocity Boy: For someone whose last book was published by Penguin, it seems like a brave choice to go with an unknown publisher, Pariah Press, for this one. The Myth of Brilliant Summers will be their first book. Can you explain the thinking behind that decision?

Austin Collings: I love it. I think it’s a naturally awkward or contrarian part of me. I like the underdog. I like the idea of being outside the mainstream.

Atrocity Boy: Isn’t there a part of you that wanted to go with a bigger publisher?

Austin Collings: They wouldn’t have touched it! It’s very hard to market. The stories aren’t particularly satisfying, in certain ways. As my former agent said about an unfinished novel I was working on for a while called Windows, it’s ‘unashamedly literary’.

Atrocity Boy: Was your decision also connected to the fact that Pariah is based in Manchester rather than London? Did that make you feel more at home?

Austin Collings: No, no, it’s not that clinical. I used to live in London and I like parts of it, but some of the people … They use the phrase ‘dumbing down’ but it isn’t dumbing down, it’s being educated wrong.

[The girls walk past, ready to hit the town.]

Are you all learning from this?

[Silence.]

Atrocity Boy: I like your tights, Sarah.

Sarah: Thanks.

[Exeunt the girls.]

Austin Collings: They’ve been educated, they’re aware of postmodern editing techniques. I’ve been amongst people like this and they know how to construct a programme like Big Brother. It’s brightly inhuman! I don’t think they believe in themselves and nor do they believe in other people. A lot of people have gone through the British education system but there’s been no great experience for a long time. I think the last great test for most of us was school. And that’s why you’ve got this huge swathe of mindless TV programmes. It reminds of that Larkin line. They said to him: ‘How does it feel to be out of the centre?’ And he says: ‘The centre of what?’ You’re not in any centre are you? You’re being told that you are but it doesn’t matter to me. I could be in Middlesbrough.

Atrocity Boy: But that’s Larkin’s point. It was a deliberate thing, living in Hull. He wanted to write from that outsider position.

Austin Collings: He saw Ted Hughes as the opposite, didn’t he? The line was: ‘Never trust a poet in a leather jacket!’

Atrocity Boy: Apparently he had a photo of Ted Hughes in his toilet.

Austin Collings: [Laughs.] I think it’s about instinct. Writing is about instinct, publishing is about instinct, music is about instinct, a feel: you know when you meet someone and there’s something amiss … I’ve always trusted my instincts. I knew when to get out of college, for example. I’d read Bukowski as a teenager and I knew that I’d enjoy myself more working on a fish market and earning eighteen quid. I liked not being in college when I should’ve been. I was at the shopping centre and I’d be in Waterstones, hanging around, having a cig … I think that’s why the footage of Jamie Bulger resonated so much. When you see that footage of them kids … It was the first time we’d seen CCTV properly, on the news and in the papers. I’d like the book to have the power that that footage of Bulger had. I know that sounds disturbing — or it might to some people — but with crime scenes you only get snippets of the stories.

Atrocity Boy: Why did you lead into that from saying that you liked hanging out at Waterstones?

Austin Collings: Because it reminded me of being at college, when I was in the shopping centre. I always think of that footage of Bulger … I’d like to write stories that are fiction but which have the quality of hard fact.

Atrocity Boy: But to do that wouldn’t you have to change your writing style? Because at the moment it is ‘unashamedly literary’.

Austin Collings: Documentary is quite stylised though. In the same way that Ulysses tries to capture a day, I’d like to capture a second … I’ve always had this sense of great injustice too. Maybe that’s part of it. I went to see In the Name of the Father at The Cornerhouse when I was thirteen. I’d always really feel the pain of the IRA … My Dad is called Michael Collings, by the way.

Atrocity Boy: Really?

Austin Collings: His mother is one of thirteen. She was left on a doorstep. It might come from that.

Atrocity Boy: Is the collection autobiographical, then?

Austin Collings: Well, yes, of course, to a degree. You’ve got the whole school period … But it’s not totally autobiographical. I admire B.S. Johnson. I like the way he wanted to write something incredibly modernist but he was incapable of it and ends up being heartfelt and emotional, almost in spite of himself. A lot of people see modernism as austere and cold but even with Beckett, I find it very emotional … I’d like it to be a generous book. I’d like it to be a mate to people.

VORTEX

A Story by Austin Collings

He seemed to live daily in the shadow of disaster. He couldn’t shake the darkness. The rolling waste of days. Knuckles on the door that made his nerves scream.

He looked for messages in the street, in children’s speak:

‘We’re not allowed to spit in our garden,’ the boy said.

‘She’s got blood on her laces,’ the girl said.

‘You know a boy called Angel?’

‘Yeah. That's what his Mum called him.’

They walked beneath the green gloom of trees dressed in yellow and black school uniforms. He saw them as bee children with airborne auras. They made him smile. He wished them all the best, but never said this to them. He knew the dangers.

He saw truth in the dirty alleys of the human pysche, saw its sun circles and thunder and felt its force. God is the storm, he’d say to himself, silently, tragically traipsing through the glow of Aldi or Tesco, irritated by barcode bleeps, fascinated by faces.

Each day he searched eagerly for offers, for stickers plastered across cut-price meat. This sight excited him. There were times when he’d happily steal. He felt the solitude of crime. Make sure nobody is looking. Seize the moment (there’s always one in a day). The gold cup, the stolen steak. Second prize, wine. Together, victory for the night. Exit without paying. Grip the food and feel the sensation of success as you flee into the tunnel that leads to the quiet of the old people’s home.

Recently he’d become obsessed with the forecast. Tomorrow’s weather. He longed for strong sun. It made him feel powerful. Holes had started appearing in the roads. Sink-holes. The online news blamed the heavy storms. And then there’d been a sound ‘like a UFO’ in the skies above the town, ‘a loud pulsating, bass noise’ that ‘seemed to move’.

The world is turning.

In digital music he heard people’s panic and angry desperation. He yearned to disappear. Only ghosts can live between two fires. The pub was the centre of his circle. He hid in alcoves. Something out of childhood whistles through these spaces. The special anguish of youth.

He stood for the invisible, for personal courage, for bygone traits — or this is what he told himself — though he wasn’t so sure people ever thought like this, even in the truly hard times, when they were forced to eat grenades and watch bullets enter their own and other people’s bodies.

Still and all: bravery in a rotten climate is hurriedly buried, he thought, and so I must balance this while I’m part of this earth.

He entered The Railway. Betty behind the bar was diminishing. The taps were taller than she was.

‘What can I get you?’ she said.

Those words. Healed again.

He found his alcove, placed his food and pint on the gold textured table. Four men in front of him sat listening to another man read carefully from a newspaper. In-between speaking this man would pluck and eat from a huge bag of Quavers with his huge fingers.

‘Two ethereal shapes appearing in the clouds ...’

Wiping Quaver dust from his lips, he continued:

‘... possibly beginning of transporter/transport invasion.’

Things from another planet.

And then a big and fat silence transformed the pub. All the men stopped talking.

He took a small sip of his pint and put it down quick, like touching a flame. Were they now looking at him? Were they now asking his name? He was worried now — deeply worried. He could tell them him his name. He would tell them his name. He knew that. I’m ______. The voice was the problem — which voice to use?

The Myth of Brilliant Summers is available to buy for £9.99 from all good and bad bookshops and direct from the Pariah Press store at pariahpress.com.

#interview #austin collings #musings

0 notes