Guest Room

I've removed enough dirt from under my house to now boast a second bedroom. Dracula and Bush are both welcome; there are little critters for blood and plenty to screw up.

That's Living

There’s a community of people living in their cars on the gravel road framing my workplace. Toss in a few drug users, the occasional theft, tagging, poop behind the tip, trains colliding as planned, jets flying low on final approach and you’re at the front door of my local industrial heaven. East London and the Thames at low tide still win my heart however.

Where was I?

Oh Yes, one of the locals is clever.

Think, Then Speak

While shopping at a thrift store for kitchen kit, Stacy called and asked what I was up to. "I'm buying a little pot and then going to your mom's house."

This joins other slips...

To Stacy, "You smell like petroleum."

While on the phone, surrounded by co-workers, I promised a customer I would protect her popular product from other salespeople - wanting to sell it. "Don't worry, I'm beating them off now."

Goodwill

In Goodwill loo...


This bugger startled me in the parking lot, so I felt compelled to work it into an insane bat frenzy. Sorry dog lovers, but 4 thoughts come to mind when I see, hear or think about little yappy dogs.

#1 Trap shooting
#2 A Fish Called Wanda
#3 Kickoff in American football
#4 My neighbor's chiwawa (Moses Lake) that took on a rottweiler, while defending its yard and lost a tooth for the effort.



Start the hate mail...

I'm A Father!

While watching TV, my fish tank, I discovered small fry!



Spotted 1, then 2, 3, 4, wow. They're about 3mm long, have all the fin fittings, are twitchy and have eyes with growing room, like sneakers on a 12 year old.

A few brave ones swim to the surface for dinner, after the big fish are full. There are at least 8 in the tank and if they all live, I'll have a dilemma. Give them away or prepare the Greek dish Psarolia. The recipe calls for 15, so there you go, free fish.

Recalling childhood years, I caught myself mumbling, "Come on small fry, is that all you got?"

Shot In The Arse

My truck has two gas tanks, because I'm an American I suppose. Regardless, my engine was not getting any and sat for a month while I tried to fix it. After admitting I was getting nowhere, Gene suggested his favorite mechanic, Mike.

As you know, good mechanics are like secret fishing holes. Don't fish? Me neither, so substitute good breakfast joint. Anyway, they're hard to find and once the secret is out, it's over.

Mike was puzzled like me, but he cracked it. The ex-military man discovered a bullet hole in the rear tank, through which water had collected. Bullet hole? This was my mom's truck!

We're having breakfast together soon, at a poor fishing hole and I will press for answers...

Friends, Farm and Casket Maker

On the one year anniversary of departing the UK for the states, I traded some money for a ticket to return to the land I call home. Leo meets me at Heathrow with a latte, does he know me or what and we work our way back to the "Stow", Walthamstow that is.

Nothing has changed in London, except Leo and Claire's address, which is now a lovely flat they have spruced up with refinished flooring, warm colors, sprinkle of art, no tat and a palatial guest room for me. OK, you can probably stay there as well, but remember it's MINE. With twenty mattresses over a pea and me not princely, I didn'’t care to leave for days, so I didn'’t. With weeks of work behind me, without days off, I was dead tired. The new digs were thoughtfully placed across the street from a dealer with HobNobs, ginger snaps, cheese and milk, but who really cares about the last staple. Oh yes, tea, they're all lifelines.

With energy back, Leo and I spent the next three days at the Walthamstow Dog Track betting on the ugliest dog and lost our retirement money. Sorry that was both a dream and a partial dream. We'’ll go someday, but why have all of life'’s pleasures in one trip, besides unbeknownst to me; there was a casket maker in my future, more on that later.

In fact, much more later, I am running out of time to rush words, to adequately describe the vast amount of memories and warm thoughts.


How Leo spends all his free time.










Hidden in this shot is Claire's childhood home, a 400 year old farm house, surrounded by farming kit and holding her kind parents Peter and Josie. More later!


Photographer: Jack


Photographer: Jack


Jack


Photographer: Jack


Jack and Jake.



Peter taught me everything about farming in two days. Recycle everything, schedule, build muscles, fresh air and shit, shit, shit. The last two are true, but not concurrently.


Christine and her dad Ralph, 92, two lovlies in Yeovil. Go ahead, try and say it.

Well I must go to work, so much to write...

Burning Down The House

11:00 PM: Oven on... nachos
11:15 PM: Doze off
2:30 AM: Art