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Morecambe

  Thu 16th June 2011

Went for a pub tea in Morecambe with Denise. Black pudding, fried egg, and salad. Bit of a bodge job of a meal, thought it would come with some vegetables. Denise is my former work colleague from Bloom and Doom to whom Frances sent some unpleasant texts from my phone after she went paranoidially through it one night and discovered the flirty texts which Denise and I exchange.

I don't know if it was the new local cider that we were drinking, but I got talking about Seriouscrush for a bit and nearly felt tearful, telling Denise that had Seriouscrush chosen me I'd have been able to say honestly, that she's the most beautiful woman in the world, that I desire her solely, and that I would be hers, and that I would belong to her.

Denise was going to her church singing practice at 8pm. We walked up to the building, at which I wondered. 1837 but it looked earlier. A group of teenagers had congregated at the entrance for an evening out spitting. Denise invited me in to have a look round. Her fellow singers were all from one family. Dad was strapping on an electric guitar.

I'd missed the bus back home, so I walked back along the prom a few stops until the next one. The skies of Morecambe Bay, grey and metallic, with infinitely graduated light, the thousands of wormcasts on the wetted monochrome shore. It had a slow, sad beauty, and I missed Seriouscrush and imagined walking with her looking at this, holding her hand, feeling every millimetre of her touch, saying nothing, saying everything.

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looby, n.; pl. loobies. A lout; an awkward, stupid, clownish person


M / 56 / Bristol, "the most beautiful, interesting and distinguished city in England" -- John Betjeman [1961, source eludes me].

"Looby is a left-wing intellectual who is obsessed with a) women's clothes and b) tits." -- Joy of Bex.

WLTM literate woman, 40-65. Must have nice tits, a PhD, and an mdma factory in the shed, although the first on its own will do in the short term.


There are plenty of bastards who drink moderately. Of course, I don't consider them to be people. They are not our comrades.
Sergei Korovin, quoted in Pavel Krusanov, The Blue Book of the Alcoholic

I am here to change my life. I am here to force myself to change my life.
Chinese man I met during Freshers Week at Lancaster University, 2008

The more democratised art becomes, the more we recognise in it our own mediocrity.
James Meek

Tell me, why is it that even when we are enjoying music, for instance, or a beautiful evening, or a conversation in agreeable company, it all seems no more than a hint of some infinite felicity existing apart somewhere, rather than actual happiness – such, I mean, as we ourselves can really possess?
Turgenev, Fathers and Sons

I hate the iPod; I hate the idea that music is such a personal thing that you can just stick some earplugs in your ears and have an experience with music. Music is a social phenomenon.
Jeremy Wagner

La vie poetique has its pleasures, and readings--ideally a long way from home--are one of them. I can pretend to be George Szirtes.
George Szirtes

Using words well is a social virtue. Use 'fortuitous' once more to mean 'fortunate' and you move an English word another step towards the dustbin. If your mistake took hold, no-one who valued clarity would be able to use the word again.
John Whale

One good thing about being a Marxist is that you don't have to pretend to like work.
Terry Eagleton, What Is A Novel?, Lancaster University, 1 Feb 2010

The working man is a fucking loser.
Mick, The Golden Lion, Lancaster, 21 Mar 2011

The Comfort of Strangers

23.1.16: Big clearout of the defunct and dormant and dull
16.1.19: Further pruning

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