http://www.tangents.co.uk/ The adventures of four flâneurs stranded in suburbia. Arts Literature en Copyright 2007 editors@tangents.co.uk (John Carney) editors@tangents.co.uk Sat, 13 Dec 2008 08:46:40 GMT Sat, 13 Dec 2008 08:46:40 GMT RSS DreamFeeder v 2.2.0 The journey’s end. The end of an era. Full circle. Sitting around once again, listening to Nancy and Lee singing about strawberries, cherries, and an angel’s kiss in spring, and how summer wine is really made of all these things. The journey’s end. The end of an era. Full circle. Sitting around once again, listening to Nancy and Lee singing about strawberries, cherries, and an angel’s kiss in spring, and how summer wine is really made of all these things. http://www.tangents.co.uk/theoutsideofeverything/50.html Sat, 13 Dec 2008 08:45:33 GMT © 2008 John Carney Illustration © 2008 Alistair Fitchett http://www.tangents.co.uk/theoutsideofeverything/50.html.1229157989528.1 It was among the worst of times. Our beloved Soul Sister Number One had been involved in a hit and run accident. She was in a bad way. We were beside ourselves with worry. Mad at the world. But determined It was among the worst of times. Our beloved Soul Sister Number One had been involved in a hit and run accident. She was in a bad way. We were beside ourselves with worry. Mad at the world. But determined http://www.tangents.co.uk/theoutsideofeverything/49.html Fri, 28 Nov 2008 11:52:13 GMT © 2008 John Carney Illustration © 2008 Alistair Fitchett http://www.tangents.co.uk/theoutsideofeverything/49.html.1227873138760.1 All the post offices are disappearing round our way. The main post offices. The sub post offices. Not making enough profit. Not paying for their selves. Whatever that means. So the post offices have gone. Very controversial. Although the one that was on the corner came in place of something else, and I thought that controversial at the time, so I suppose what goes around comes around. Before it was a sub post office and newsagent and a place that sold loads of overpriced things nobody should really want, it was a second hand record shop. A really tatty, scruffy shop run by a Richard Brautigan lookalike and his girlfriend of the moment. Really you wonder how they survived as long as they did. You sense it was for them just something to do and somewhere to go. They would seem amazed if someone wanted to buy a record. They weren’t a specialist place or anything. A bit of this and that. I didn’t buy much in there really. But there was a time it had a supply of old ska and bluebeat singles. Battered unloved things, but for our barely-into-our-teens selves sweetly singing The Israelites this was manna from heaven. All the post offices are disappearing round our way. The main post offices. The sub post offices. Not making enough profit. Not paying for their selves. Whatever that means. So the post offices have gone. Very controversial. Although the one that was on the corner came in place of something else, and I thought that controversial at the time, so I suppose what goes around comes around. Before it was a sub post office and newsagent and a place that sold loads of overpriced things nobody should really want, it was a second hand record shop. A really tatty, scruffy shop run by a Richard Brautigan lookalike and his girlfriend of the moment. Really you wonder how they survived as long as they did. You sense it was for them just something to do and somewhere to go. They would seem amazed if someone wanted to buy a record. They weren’t a specialist place or anything. A bit of this and that. I didn’t buy much in there really. But there was a time it had a supply of old ska and bluebeat singles. Battered unloved things, but for our barely-into-our-teens selves sweetly singing The Israelites this was manna from heaven. file:///Mac/Users/alistairfitchett/Sites/tangents/theoutsideofeverything/48.html Sat, 22 Nov 2008 16:22:17 GMT © 2008 John Carney Illustration © 2008 Alistair Fitchett http://www.tangents.co.uk/theoutsideofeverything/48.html.1227370941403.1 I put a seashell against my ear, and it all comes back to me. Well, yes, that’s one way. But sometimes the strangest thing can set off memories. And not always when and where and how you want it to I put a seashell against my ear, and it all comes back to me. Well, yes, that’s one way. But sometimes the strangest thing can set off memories. And not always when and where and how you want it to file:///Mac/Users/alistairfitchett/Sites/tangents/theoutsideofeverything/47.html Sat, 15 Nov 2008 10:08:45 GMT © 2008 John Carney Illustration © 2008 Alistair Fitchett http://www.tangents.co.uk/theoutsideofeverything/47.html.1226743728082.1 Much as I love writing that captures everyday life, the nuances of the here and now, I find myself increasingly keen to escape into different worlds. Not different worlds of the science fiction kind, but the past. That different country. I wonder sometimes about writers I like a lot. Patrick O’Brian, say. Or Alan Furst. Writers who have successfully created images of the past. Vistas they have returned to time and again so successfully. The detail they capture is lovely. The Joseph Roth book on a bedside table. A very Alan Furst touch that. Lovely little details like that oh so non-casually tossed in. It must seem strange to immerse yourself so completely in a fictional world, and come blinking into the light of the here and now, and making less sense of what’s around than a faraway ocean in the nineteenth century or a train through middle Europe at the onset of war in the 1930s. Much as I love writing that captures everyday life, the nuances of the here and now, I find myself increasingly keen to escape into different worlds. Not different worlds of the science fiction kind, but the past. That different country. I wonder sometimes about writers I like a lot. Patrick O’Brian, say. Or Alan Furst. Writers who have successfully created images of the past. Vistas they have returned to time and again so successfully. The detail they capture is lovely. The Joseph Roth book on a bedside table. A very Alan Furst touch that. Lovely little details like that oh so non-casually tossed in. It must seem strange to immerse yourself so completely in a fictional world, and come blinking into the light of the here and now, and making less sense of what’s around than a faraway ocean in the nineteenth century or a train through middle Europe at the onset of war in the 1930s. file:///Mac/Users/alistairfitchett/Sites/tangents/theoutsideofeverything/46.html Sun, 02 Nov 2008 10:59:53 GMT © 2008 John Carney Illustration © 2008 Alistair Fitchett http://www.tangents.co.uk/theoutsideofeverything/46.html.1226140533944.3 I hate the news. I hate listening to the radio, and hearing the way news is reported. I absolutely detest the way nowadays the broadcasters encourage and cajole people into sending in texts commenting on the news. I hate the way news is reported on the web, where people are encouraged to send in their photos and videos related to news items. It’s just horrible. What’s it all about? What’s the point of it? It seems unhealthy. Why is seemingly everyone going around pointing their phones at everything that moves or maybe doesn’t move? Does anything happen in the world nowadays without someone pointing a camera phone at it and preserving it for posterity? These are the same people moaning about civil liberties and the surveillance state no doubt. How on earth does someone caught up in an incident just happen to have the ‘phone number of the BBC conveniently handy? It’s unhealthy. I hate the news. I hate listening to the radio, and hearing the way news is reported. I absolutely detest the way nowadays the broadcasters encourage and cajole people into sending in texts commenting on the news. I hate the way news is reported on the web, where people are encouraged to send in their photos and videos related to news items. It’s just horrible. What’s it all about? What’s the point of it? It seems unhealthy. Why is seemingly everyone going around pointing their phones at everything that moves or maybe doesn’t move? Does anything happen in the world nowadays without someone pointing a camera phone at it and preserving it for posterity? These are the same people moaning about civil liberties and the surveillance state no doubt. How on earth does someone caught up in an incident just happen to have the ‘phone number of the BBC conveniently handy? It’s unhealthy. file:///Mac/Users/alistairfitchett/Sites/tangents/theoutsideofeverything/45.html Sun, 02 Nov 2008 10:16:32 GMT © 2008 John Carney Illustration © 2008 Alistair Fitchett http://www.tangents.co.uk/theoutsideofeverything/45.html.1225621071487.1 Earlier today I was sitting in this room. Listening to Bill Evans and Tony Bennett. The first LP. Letting the bleak sounds wash over me. Losing myself in the music. Two great men. Troubled. Perhaps. In their way. In a way we all are. Ah. It’s that sort of record. Anyway, one thing led to another. And I got to thinking about Vic Godard. Vic, who was our patron saint when we were sad young men. We wanted to be Vic. That may have come as a great surprise to Vic. After all, he wanted to be Tony Bennett. He sang about Tony Bennett. Sang about how he was the best. Vic got us listening to things like Tony Bennett and Frank Sinatra. We owe him a lot. Or do we? That’s one of the songs Bill and Tony do so well. Young and Foolish. Would I want to be young and foolish again? Earlier today I was sitting in this room. Listening to Bill Evans and Tony Bennett. The first LP. Letting the bleak sounds wash over me. Losing myself in the music. Two great men. Troubled. Perhaps. In their way. In a way we all are. Ah. It’s that sort of record. Anyway, one thing led to another. And I got to thinking about Vic Godard. Vic, who was our patron saint when we were sad young men. We wanted to be Vic. That may have come as a great surprise to Vic. After all, he wanted to be Tony Bennett. He sang about Tony Bennett. Sang about how he was the best. Vic got us listening to things like Tony Bennett and Frank Sinatra. We owe him a lot. Or do we? That’s one of the songs Bill and Tony do so well. Young and Foolish. Would I want to be young and foolish again? file:///Mac/Users/alistairfitchett/Sites/tangents/theoutsideofeverything/44.html Sat, 25 Oct 2008 07:43:38 GMT © 2008 John Carney Illustration © 2008 Alistair Fitchett http://www.tangents.co.uk/theoutsideofeverything/44.html.1224920630566.1 While we did our best to avoid the world of work, there were times when a job and a few bob came in exceedingly handy. And it was at times like these that we would end up doing the daftest things. One that sticks in the mind particularly was when the fairest one amongst us took on a bit of modelling. No, no, no, this was not modelling of the catwalk variety. This was modelling of the life drawing variety. And who better to do it? While we did our best to avoid the world of work, there were times when a job and a few bob came in exceedingly handy. And it was at times like these that we would end up doing the daftest things. One that sticks in the mind particularly was when the fairest one amongst us took on a bit of modelling. No, no, no, this was not modelling of the catwalk variety. This was modelling of the life drawing variety. And who better to do it? file:///Mac/Users/alistairfitchett/Sites/tangents/theoutsideofeverything/43.html Sun, 19 Oct 2008 14:04:38 GMT © 2008 John Carney Illustration © 2008 Alistair Fitchett http://www.tangents.co.uk/theoutsideofeverything/43.html.1224425085285.1 The clergy have been in the news a bit of late, one way and another. I heard a piece on the radio about a vicar who had decided he should go barefoot. Now spent his days walking round his parish sans shoes. In Much Wenlock, of all places. What on earth would Miss Marple say? She’d probably make a joke about soles being saved. But why would you want to go round barefoot? In winter too. I assume it was more a case of trying to get closer to the spirit of Jesus. As opposed to a tribute to Robert Parker. The clergy have been in the news a bit of late, one way and another. I heard a piece on the radio about a vicar who had decided he should go barefoot. Now spent his days walking round his parish sans shoes. In Much Wenlock, of all places. What on earth would Miss Marple say? She’d probably make a joke about soles being saved. But why would you want to go round barefoot? In winter too. I assume it was more a case of trying to get closer to the spirit of Jesus. As opposed to a tribute to Robert Parker. file:///Mac/Users/alistairfitchett/Sites/tangents/theoutsideofeverything/42.html Sun, 19 Oct 2008 14:00:52 GMT © 2008 John Carney Illustration © 2008 Alistair Fitchett http://www.tangents.co.uk/theoutsideofeverything/42.html.1224425038847.1 Our Quiet One was very fond of his Aunt Annie. She was a Shooters Hillbilly, and our Quiet One would often pop up to visit her. She was good company. A bit eccentric, but a lovely lady. Sometimes he would just sit with her. Sometimes he would sit and look after Holly, her King Charles Spaniel. Sometimes he’d go with his aunt for a walk in the nearby woods. Sometimes he’d take Holly for a walk in the woods, chasing squirrels and raking through leaves. It was a bit of a bolt hole for our Quiet One. Our Quiet One was very fond of his Aunt Annie. She was a Shooters Hillbilly, and our Quiet One would often pop up to visit her. She was good company. A bit eccentric, but a lovely lady. Sometimes he would just sit with her. Sometimes he would sit and look after Holly, her King Charles Spaniel. Sometimes he’d go with his aunt for a walk in the nearby woods. Sometimes he’d take Holly for a walk in the woods, chasing squirrels and raking through leaves. It was a bit of a bolt hole for our Quiet One. file:///Mac/Users/alistairfitchett/Sites/tangents/theoutsideofeverything/41.html Sat, 11 Oct 2008 16:55:12 GMT © 2008 John Carney Illustration © 2008 Alistair Fitchett http://www.tangents.co.uk/theoutsideofeverything/41.html.1223744130234.2 I’ve always had an eye for the birds. Ahem. Sorry. But the old ones are the best. Sometimes. And said with a suitably Leslie Phillips type leer or a Sid James style dirty chuckle, it’s still a good line. Could earn you a good clout round the ear, or a winning smile. Nevertheless. It works because it’s true. I can’t speak for the others, but to this day I am a card carrying member of the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds. I think. At least they take a few pounds each year from my bank account. For which I get sent a card. A membership card I can whip out when I dare to say I’ve always had a bit of an eye for the birds. I’ve always had an eye for the birds. Ahem. Sorry. But the old ones are the best. Sometimes. And said with a suitably Leslie Phillips type leer or a Sid James style dirty chuckle, it’s still a good line. Could earn you a good clout round the ear, or a winning smile. Nevertheless. It works because it’s true. I can’t speak for the others, but to this day I am a card carrying member of the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds. I think. At least they take a few pounds each year from my bank account. For which I get sent a card. A membership card I can whip out when I dare to say I’ve always had a bit of an eye for the birds. file:///Mac/Users/alistairfitchett/Sites/tangents/theoutsideofeverything/40.html Thu, 18 Sep 2008 17:26:35 GMT © 2008 John Carney Illustration © 2008 Alistair Fitchett http://www.tangents.co.uk/theoutsideofeverything/40.html.1221758817327.1 I’m not sure what it says about me and the world and where I am, but I fell in love with a lady yesterday and have been wondering about her ever since. She was a Jehovah’s Witness. She came around knocking at our door. They often do on a Saturday morning. Some people get really worked up about it. There’s been letters in the local paper. But what’s the point in getting het up? You don’t have to open the door. You can get rid of them firmly and fairly. They’re not really selling anything. It’s not as bad as the people with their Betterware catalogues. I’m not sure what it says about me and the world and where I am, but I fell in love with a lady yesterday and have been wondering about her ever since. She was a Jehovah’s Witness. She came around knocking at our door. They often do on a Saturday morning. Some people get really worked up about it. There’s been letters in the local paper. But what’s the point in getting het up? You don’t have to open the door. You can get rid of them firmly and fairly. They’re not really selling anything. It’s not as bad as the people with their Betterware catalogues. file:///Mac/Users/alistairfitchett/Sites/tangents/theoutsideofeverything/39.html Thu, 18 Sep 2008 17:11:29 GMT © 2008 John Carney Illustration © 2008 Alistair Fitchett http://www.tangents.co.uk/theoutsideofeverything/39.html.1221757895364.1 Having a bit of time on my hands of late I’ve been sorting out some of my old books. I suppose books are a bit like sea shells, you know when you put one against your ear, in a sense that when you look at the cover and read the blurb on the back and it all comes back to you. One book I was delighted to reacquaint myself with was Ilya Ehrenburg’s The Life of the Automobile. I’m not sure how well known this book is. But it was a revelation when I first came across it. First published around 1930 in Russia, it is a chronicle of its time, and the author tells the story of the motor car, its rise and rise, its effects on the world, on workers, on the economy, and so on. My edition is a Serpents Tail one published in 1999, but I think it was first published in the UK in the mid-‘80s by Pluto Press, the fine left book publishers, who were at one time overseen by Michael Kidron, the father of the great producer Adam who was behind the controls of many of our favourite records. Small world. Having a bit of time on my hands of late I’ve been sorting out some of my old books. I suppose books are a bit like sea shells, you know when you put one against your ear, in a sense that when you look at the cover and read the blurb on the back and it all comes back to you. One book I was delighted to reacquaint myself with was Ilya Ehrenburg’s The Life of the Automobile. I’m not sure how well known this book is. But it was a revelation when I first came across it. First published around 1930 in Russia, it is a chronicle of its time, and the author tells the story of the motor car, its rise and rise, its effects on the world, on workers, on the economy, and so on. My edition is a Serpents Tail one published in 1999, but I think it was first published in the UK in the mid-‘80s by Pluto Press, the fine left book publishers, who were at one time overseen by Michael Kidron, the father of the great producer Adam who was behind the controls of many of our favourite records. Small world. file:///Mac/Users/alistairfitchett/Sites/tangents/theoutsideofeverything/38.html Thu, 18 Sep 2008 16:49:14 GMT © 2008 John Carney Illustration © 2008 Alistair Fitchett http://www.tangents.co.uk/theoutsideofeverything/38.html.1221757895364.2 The great J L Carr in his foreword to his gem of a novel How Steeple Sinderby Wanderers Won The FA Cup asks if the story is believable. He goes on to answer his own question by stating that it all depends on what you want to believe. True stories can be stranger than fiction anyway. The great J L Carr in his foreword to his gem of a novel How Steeple Sinderby Wanderers Won The FA Cup asks if the story is believable. He goes on to answer his own question by stating that it all depends on what you want to believe. True stories can be stranger than fiction anyway. file:///Mac/Users/alistairfitchett/Sites/tangents/theoutsideofeverything/37.html Sat, 06 Sep 2008 20:23:25 GMT © 2008 John Carney Illustration © 2008 Alistair Fitchett http://www.tangents.co.uk/theoutsideofeverything/37.html.1220732607685.1 There were four of us. Well, three of us, and Rosa the red setter. We were sitting in The Redhead’s room, drinking tea and listening to his da’s Frank Sinatra records. We were all feeling edgy, and nervous about we knew not what. Frank was singing for only the lonely when suddenly our Quiet One poked his head round the door. Blimey, he said, you look like you’re all waiting for the jury to return its verdict. Anyway campers, he continued in an infuriatingly and unusually cheerful vein, guess who I saw when I went for my Restart interview? Talk about the return of the prodigal, he added. Come on, he urged, have a guess! There were four of us. Well, three of us, and Rosa the red setter. We were sitting in The Redhead’s room, drinking tea and listening to his da’s Frank Sinatra records. We were all feeling edgy, and nervous about we knew not what. Frank was singing for only the lonely when suddenly our Quiet One poked his head round the door. Blimey, he said, you look like you’re all waiting for the jury to return its verdict. Anyway campers, he continued in an infuriatingly and unusually cheerful vein, guess who I saw when I went for my Restart interview? Talk about the return of the prodigal, he added. Come on, he urged, have a guess! file:///Mac/Users/alistairfitchett/Sites/tangents/theoutsideofeverything/36.html Sat, 30 Aug 2008 08:53:21 GMT © 2008 John Carney Illustration © 2008 Alistair Fitchett http://www.tangents.co.uk/theoutsideofeverything/36.html.1220086438833.1 Way back when a group of researchers or whatever who were members of the Glasgow University Media Group or some such outfit carried out some pioneering studies of how news is presented, which they published in a series of Bad News related publications. These works if you can track them down still make for essential reading, and they are an important glimpse into a supposedly simpler world. One of the early participants in this research was Jean Hart, who just happened to be married to Bill Oddie for her sins. Not that that’s particularly relevant. Except that it was from Jean that I first heard of this research. I mention this because I recently stumbled on my copy of the third book in the series, where I had underlined a specific passage. I love when something’s struck you enough that you have to underline a passage. Way back when a group of researchers or whatever who were members of the Glasgow University Media Group or some such outfit carried out some pioneering studies of how news is presented, which they published in a series of Bad News related publications. These works if you can track them down still make for essential reading, and they are an important glimpse into a supposedly simpler world. One of the early participants in this research was Jean Hart, who just happened to be married to Bill Oddie for her sins. Not that that’s particularly relevant. Except that it was from Jean that I first heard of this research. I mention this because I recently stumbled on my copy of the third book in the series, where I had underlined a specific passage. I love when something’s struck you enough that you have to underline a passage. file:///Mac/Users/alistairfitchett/Sites/tangents/theoutsideofeverything/35.html Sat, 30 Aug 2008 08:51:14 GMT © 2008 John Carney Illustration © 2008 Alistair Fitchett http://www.tangents.co.uk/theoutsideofeverything/35.html.1220086438833.2 Suddenly one summer our Fair One decided he needed to get away from it all. Away from family pressures. Away from the authorities, the bureaucrats, needling him. Away from us even. And being the type of person that he was, our Fair One landed on his feet. Almost on the fairway, you could say. For somehow that summer the fairest of us all landed a cushy little number looking after a quiet little crazy golf course down on the Kent Coast. Accommodation was even thrown in, along with a small living allowance. So, okay, the accommodation was an unloved caravan on a site along the front at Tankerton, which needed doing up, but our Fair One was as happy as can-be. Suddenly one summer our Fair One decided he needed to get away from it all. Away from family pressures. Away from the authorities, the bureaucrats, needling him. Away from us even. And being the type of person that he was, our Fair One landed on his feet. Almost on the fairway, you could say. For somehow that summer the fairest of us all landed a cushy little number looking after a quiet little crazy golf course down on the Kent Coast. Accommodation was even thrown in, along with a small living allowance. So, okay, the accommodation was an unloved caravan on a site along the front at Tankerton, which needed doing up, but our Fair One was as happy as can-be. file:///Mac/Users/alistairfitchett/Sites/tangents/theoutsideofeverything/34.html Sun, 17 Aug 2008 16:05:24 GMT © 2008 John Carney Illustration © 2008 Alistair Fitchett http://www.tangents.co.uk/theoutsideofeverything/34.html.1218989153650.1 Don’t believe all they tell you. Nothing’s not a bad word. Well, it can be. I popped into the library the other day. To see what Beckett books there were. There was nothing. There used to be plenty. All those names. Molloy. Murphy. Watt. We loved them all. We loved the way, it could be said, nothing happened. But there was so much to that nothing. And the pictures of Beckett on the dust covers. We loved that. Much ado about nothing. We loved the Subway Sect song, Ambition. The one that went nothing ever seems to happen to me. That wasn’t a bad thing either. We liked nothing happening. We could not understand people who said it would drive them mad doing nothing. We were happy doing nothing. When people asked what we’d been doing, we said nothing. Like that line. In The Fall song. What’s this song about? Er, nothing. Don’t believe all they tell you. Nothing’s not a bad word. Well, it can be. I popped into the library the other day. To see what Beckett books there were. There was nothing. There used to be plenty. All those names. Molloy. Murphy. Watt. We loved them all. We loved the way, it could be said, nothing happened. But there was so much to that nothing. And the pictures of Beckett on the dust covers. We loved that. Much ado about nothing. We loved the Subway Sect song, Ambition. The one that went nothing ever seems to happen to me. That wasn’t a bad thing either. We liked nothing happening. We could not understand people who said it would drive them mad doing nothing. We were happy doing nothing. When people asked what we’d been doing, we said nothing. Like that line. In The Fall song. What’s this song about? Er, nothing. file:///Mac/Users/alistairfitchett/Sites/tangents/theoutsideofeverything/33.html Sun, 10 Aug 2008 14:22:48 GMT © 2008 John Carney Illustration © 2008 Alistair Fitchett http://www.tangents.co.uk/theoutsideofeverything/33.html.1218378170444.1 We called it the white economy. It sounded better. It was a way of life, whatever you wanted to call it. Those were strange times. The Government chose to turn its back on anyone who was not interested in getting on, in the conventional sense. At the same time it also turned its back on an awful lot of people who were skilled in one thing or another but were deemed to be redundant and surplus to requirements. For these groups there was little option to enjoy the benefits of prosperity. So, necessity being the mother of invention, alternative means of getting by were developed. We called it the white economy. It sounded better. It was a way of life, whatever you wanted to call it. Those were strange times. The Government chose to turn its back on anyone who was not interested in getting on, in the conventional sense. At the same time it also turned its back on an awful lot of people who were skilled in one thing or another but were deemed to be redundant and surplus to requirements. For these groups there was little option to enjoy the benefits of prosperity. So, necessity being the mother of invention, alternative means of getting by were developed. file:///Mac/Users/alistairfitchett/Sites/tangents/theoutsideofeverything/32.html Sun, 03 Aug 2008 09:53:15 GMT © 2008 John Carney Illustration © 2008 Alistair Fitchett http://www.tangents.co.uk/theoutsideofeverything/32.html.1217757202074.1 Message received and understood. An email out of the blue from our Quiet One. Seems he had uncharacteristically ventured out. As far as York. To attend a conference or something. On new departures in graphic design. Or something. But got bored. And had left early. Went for a wander round the city centre. Headed back towards the station. Vaguely. Ended up in a book shop stroke cafe. Refuelled. Nice place. Vegetarian, but nice nonetheless. On the way out he thought maybe he should just check on the best way back to the station. So he asked the lady on the till in the book shop part. And as she turned round she looked exactly and uncannily like a very young Barbara Flynn. Ah, I thought. I can see why our Quiet One would have added all those exclamation marks. Message received and understood. An email out of the blue from our Quiet One. Seems he had uncharacteristically ventured out. As far as York. To attend a conference or something. On new departures in graphic design. Or something. But got bored. And had left early. Went for a wander round the city centre. Headed back towards the station. Vaguely. Ended up in a book shop stroke cafe. Refuelled. Nice place. Vegetarian, but nice nonetheless. On the way out he thought maybe he should just check on the best way back to the station. So he asked the lady on the till in the book shop part. And as she turned round she looked exactly and uncannily like a very young Barbara Flynn. Ah, I thought. I can see why our Quiet One would have added all those exclamation marks. file:///Mac/Users/alistairfitchett/Sites/tangents/theoutsideofeverything/31.html Fri, 25 Jul 2008 11:32:52 GMT © 2008 John Carney Illustration © 2008 Alistair Fitchett http://www.tangents.co.uk/theoutsideofeverything/31.html.1216985655097.1 Our Friend Stan, the old rascal who ruled the roost round the lock ups we sort of called home, had one big regret in his life. His son. Little Stan. He was what you might call a disappointment. Well, to his old dad he was a disappointment. Little Stan was a pleasant enough bloke. Just, well, a little dull and plain. Little Stan was a local mini cab driver by trade. But he had ambitions. He wanted more. He wanted to be a success. He wanted his own mini cab firm. In the meantime, he ran people down to the station, picked people up from the hospital, drove people to the airport. It’s all a bit of a disappointment, said Our Friend Stan. It’s not quite what I’d envisaged, said Stan the elder. He’d often stop and shake his head, and say that his progeny couldn’t even get his act together and do it the proper way. You know, nice black cab, the knowledge, and all that, tootling around the centre of London, celebs in the back. Oh no. Half measures all the time, he moaned. Our Friend Stan, the old rascal who ruled the roost round the lock ups we sort of called home, had one big regret in his life. His son. Little Stan. He was what you might call a disappointment. Well, to his old dad he was a disappointment. Little Stan was a pleasant enough bloke. Just, well, a little dull and plain. Little Stan was a local mini cab driver by trade. But he had ambitions. He wanted more. He wanted to be a success. He wanted his own mini cab firm. In the meantime, he ran people down to the station, picked people up from the hospital, drove people to the airport. It’s all a bit of a disappointment, said Our Friend Stan. It’s not quite what I’d envisaged, said Stan the elder. He’d often stop and shake his head, and say that his progeny couldn’t even get his act together and do it the proper way. You know, nice black cab, the knowledge, and all that, tootling around the centre of London, celebs in the back. Oh no. Half measures all the time, he moaned. file:///Mac/Users/alistairfitchett/Sites/tangents/theoutsideofeverything/30.html Fri, 25 Jul 2008 10:08:06 GMT © 2008 John Carney Illustration © 2008 Alistair Fitchett http://www.tangents.co.uk/theoutsideofeverything/30.html.1216980497822.1