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A host of memories

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  • 1. A HOST OF MEMORIESby Adrian Cox BSc (Open)Lincoln Castle1 Fag Time2 Glass Beach3 Melting Clock4 Money Worries5 Play Safe6 Seduced7 The Gravel Pits8 This9 To Play At Home10 TroubleUsher Gateadycox@hotmail.co.uk
  • 2. Fag TimeTo see the timein red digital numbersI pressed the buttonon my new digital watch.I drew on my cigaretteand remembered the joke:What do you say to a one armed manif you want to know the time?Got the time on ya cock? Then I got caught.Teacher said,if you were supposed to smokeyoud have a chimney on your head! as he knuckled each syllable on my head.Up in his office I held out my palmand he swished it with a cane.Adrian Cox
  • 3. Glass BeachWaves gently crashin distant froths salty brineon drawback sand.Beach pebbles rattlesmooth curved and wornupon shoreline wash.People gossip.saunter back to vansfull of sandy hopeand scratched legswith brush off handson sunburn red.Fish swim batter fatto be served with chipsand curry pot sauce.An alcoholic sealaps upon a beachof glass broken bottles.Adrian Cox
  • 4. Melting ClockMorning wakesto a cold sun.Birds freezeand drop from trees.Opaqueness thawsto the clarityof transparent dropsthat dripticktock.Adrian Cox
  • 5. Money Worries.Deep in the heartbeat of the city the recession was biting hard. D.J.of no fixed abode was living in a close knit social whirl ofgirlfriends. His dirty neglected brown Volvo Estate car was loadedfull with his state of the art disco gear and treasured recordcollection. Like his initials suggest, he was a self-employed DiscJockey in the citys countless pubs, clubs and function rooms. He wasalways looking for work from the public to finance his unsettled lifestyle for girls and beer. It was washing him down in a fast flowingriver of debt. He was desperately trying to keep his head above water.Meanwhile there was a depressed and grumpy man called Billy. Atelevision addict who was living in a caravan. He had to because heowed an enormous amount of money due to an obsession many years agowith fruit machines. It was a bit of a mystery what really happened.Basically it was due to criminally obtaining money through bankerscards to spend on fruit machines. He admits that he owes over £10,000.A year ago he even had to sell his Volvo Estate to pay off some ofthe money. It was a rare occassion that he ever came out for a drink.Obviously it was a big problem to him. He was a hopeless case of thedisease called money worries.Known for being a bit of a rogue, D.J. had a working week whichstarted every Monday. He signed on at 09.30 for his giro cheque.Because D.J. had no forwarding address it had to be delivered to hisgrumpy friend, Billy. There was an agent that gave D.J. weekend workbut D.J. could only get his pay through a cheque at the end of themonth. So one weekend in every month he had money to pay off some ofhis debts. One month the cheque never came and the agent could not befound. D.J. kept trying to telephone the agent but he could not getthrough. D.J. was angry - he thought that maybe the agent had moneyworries.A man called Jack (of all trades) did his business in the area withthe help of John. Like two cowboys they rode about in a pickup vanworking in the motor trade, buying and selling. One year ago Jackbought a cheap old Volvo Estate off a grumpy man called Billy whoneeded to sell due to financial problems. It only needed slightwelding and a shock absorber fitting on the offside front. As Johnwas welding up the floor of the car from underneath, it fell on himand smashed his pelvis, which left him crippled for life. A law suitsoon followed for damages. So the Volvo Estate was sold, to a man whohappened to be called D.J. Meanwhile Jack acquired a condition thatis spreading through the people of the city known as money wories.
  • 6. Things were getting a bit much for D.J. He was driving his VolvoEstate aggressively carrying the weight of an overdraft on hisshoulders and the problems with people owing him money. What made himworse was that every time he turned left there was a cracking soundcoming from around the front offside wheel of his car. He was justperishing the thought of having to buy a new shoch absorber for hiscar when suddenly there was a loud snapping sound. D.J.s complicatedlife flashed in front of him as a 360 degree view through his wind-screen occurred. The car screeched while spinning around in circles.His car would have skidded for a long way, if it was not for the lamppost that got in the way. His brown Volvo Estate was in a state. Bythe time the ambulance had got there D.J. was dead. The verdict wasnothing new, misadventure through money worries.Adrian Cox 1991
  • 7. Play SafeTo self confidently be orto self confidently not bethat is the split infinitive.To swim diffidentscold depthsdeep and meaningfulor bathewarm shallow watersself confidence:Happy shallow watersthe sun can easily warm,where cold currents cannot pass beneathyou play there safe and warm.Why would you venture?Adrian Cox
  • 8. SeducedBeyond fashionnakedness reveals itself,not fashionablynot unfashionablyjust nakedly.Beyond nakednessa shadowprojects itself acrossthe curvature of formand interacts.It comes acrossas a silhouettethat does not touch,but would like to.Adrian Cox
  • 9. The Gravel PitsAt the age of nine I lived in the suburbs close to the countryside, where Iwould enjoy to roam with my friends at the weekends or in schoolholidays. We would climb trees, make tree swings and scramble on pushbikes. We would dare ourselves to descend steeper and steeper drops.We made a den each, deep into the woods where no one could find us.We would retreat spending hours of play time amusing ourselves increative curiosity at our rustic enviroment. The stream was afascination, for hours we would watch clear shining waters flow down,teaming with life. Near by there were air raid shelters left over from thesecond world war and the old skellingthorpe airdrome. There weregravel pits too. Their deep excavated craters had long since floodedwhere bulrushes, gauze bushes, thistles and nettles grew wildly about.My friend Andy lived down the street from me. His back garden led ontothe gravel pits. It was a good place for wildlife and fishing. Andy hadalways liked animals and kept many pets. We would often go over thegravel pits to play. One day two men were over there shooting birds.This met with Andys disapproval. We started shouting at them from adistance to put them off their shoot. It seemed to work, so we carried onplaying like children do. Suddenly a gunman appeared from nowhere,"Dont Move or Ill shoot!" he shouted loudly. We were terrified andran, but we were trapped by water. I thought of diving in then changedmy mind, in a flash the gun went bang! I froze, shaking with fright. Mylegs nearly gave way. They threatened to throw us in the water withconcrete socks. After some time they told us to walk off. As I walked offI thought they were going to shoot. Just then I felt a hard boot up myarse and ran off to play another day.Things have changed since I was nine, I am thirty three now. Thegravel pits are private land for fishing. The airdrome and air raidshelters have been removed. The land is now part of the city domainwith blocks of flats where dogs bark and children play in the streets.I think back with plaintive emotions.Adrian Cox 1998
  • 10. Thisscrewed upblotched paperworklies in thewaste basket.Thisready to be disposed ofremembers being part of the fold,in a pad with others.Thisonce milky whiteyet to be definedturned out to be a doodle.Thispaperwork becamejust another throw awayof no real importance.This Mid Life CrisisAdrian Cox
  • 11. To Play At HomeIn 1969 at 20 Arthur Streetnear the football grounda four year old boystands in front of the terraced house.While the sun is shinningbitter winds blow in guststhrough his clothes;shadows of cloudsshoot across the road,across paving slabs,up red brick walls.Cars of the sixtiespark tightly on a match dayto backdrop roarsand distant cries from their ownersat significant moments,while the Imps play at home,just as he did.Adrian Cox
  • 12. TroubleDosey doors snore and swing.ascending steps taps footsteps echo.Evidently trying to do our jobsfingers stain white leaved sheets.Movements are traced, inquisitionsfollow us home into dreams restless sleep.Imagination bangs its headon smooth hard walled corridorsand through an endless hapless maze of dreamslifes dignity screams, in silence.Adrian Cox

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