About me:

Gigs. Books. Tom Waits --- I remember bass guitars slung low, the eerie smell of the mud in front of the main stage at Reading festival, sitting on a Lunachick's lap on my 18th birthday and then meeting Dave Grohl's mum; week-long vodka binges in ankle-length fake fur coats with my nails painted purple and Yes by Manic Street Preachers on repeat in my mind; watching old Judy Garland films and playing Dead Embryonic Cells by Sepultura before going out and dancing to Happy Shopper by 60ft Dolls on a greasy TJ's floor; staring at Miss Kittin's death-fringe whilst she played Blue Monday on top of a pile of forklift truck pallets in a warehouse in Brooklyn; summer mornings building sand castles on Tenby's harbour beach and reading Whizzer and Chips; Ian Rush's second goal at Wembly 86 and Kenny Dalglish's smile; screaming along to We Are Scientists on the M4 at 3am during the best indie journey in the world ever; the moment I first watched John Coltrane performing My Favourite Things; and the exact moment I first heard Smells Like Teen Spirit; and Silent All These Years; the sound of nothing in Auschwitz in Poland; and Sobibor; and Majdanek; and Treblinka; but secret bars in Brussels and New York called Kafka and Single Room Occupancy; and Jimmy Stewart's drunken charm in Harvey; and Robert Donat in Goodbye Mr Chips; the reflection off the early morning sun off the sea between Kefalonia and Ithaka; the look of books when they're all crumpled and well-read/looked-after; the Girl; the Girl; the Girl.