Tales from the far north
Imagine the situation. You have decided to get away from it all & have a quiet escape from a pressurised lifestyle out on the Cairngorms & then this old weird guy is playing mad, mad music @ crazy volumes. One day it is some obscure jazz rock, that he tells you his totally obsessed librarian friend had transferred from tape to cd in a long labour of love, then the next day he is playing Kevin Coynes ‘ Margery Razorblade’, all about his experiences as a psychiatric nurse in mental wards. To top it all he is screaming some unbelievable story about how him, his wife & his friend went along to Paisley Art Centre to see Kevin Coyne & got lost.
The next time you pass by, he has some lost rare 60s psychedelia blaring & the lyrics are Old Testament dirges sung off - key by someone, who was in Afghanistan in 1965? Can you believe anything this old man tells you?
Later he is muttering about how he & his librarian friend used to be Bus Conductors, (whatever that might have been?) & how they also worked in a sewing machine factory?
You start to consider your own lifestyle and realise that you are glad you have adopted this sensible attitude to your health. These children of that 60s culture are deeply scarred & damaged. The strangest thing is that it doesn’t appear to bother them. They seem happy enough, lost in their thoughts & dreams of some Utopian world, where wealth seemed unimportant & where everyone had time to talk with each other & respect each other as an equal. They are all well – read, opinionated & oddly totally radical in the way that only children of Red Clydesiders can be.
No comments:
Post a Comment