The things I miss about England blog

I just wanted to thank everyone who has dropped by on this blog during the course of the year. I will (by the time this goes out) have posted 129 times during the course of the year - the most by some way. I have found it an incredibly useful way to share my fears, loves, dreams, strange drinking habits and obsessions with by and large an anonymous but seemingly intrigued audience.

I started this blog when I moved to the other side of the world, with the aim of highlighting & sharing vague memories of England/UK/life for gentle amusement. I had no vision of what the future would bring, just a dim grasp of the past. 

My life has changed more in the last 10 years than in the previous 30+ by some way:

I left a buoyant England (still in Europe) under a Labour government and virus free, married, with two parents, employed, unpublished, without a record out, pet free and 20kg overweight. Suffice to say all that has changed some for good (eg: 20kg lighter!), some much less so (take your pick).

Anyway, thank you once again for popping here and by way of a thank you, why not listen to the 

Things I miss about England playlist

Wishing you all a safe and happy 2021! 

Andy

Andrew Franks (Poet)

Soul Bay Press (Publisher)

Andy Franks (Soundcloud)

Andy Franks (Mixcloud)

The Butterfly House (Website)

The Butterfly House (Bandcamp)

Day in the life

A New Year's Eve Anxiety Vibration

-- I have watched 

the film

so many times 

and I never noticed

'Greensleeves' 

playing in the 

background 

as the Group Captain 

drives from base 

to The Jackdaw Inn.

-- 'Greensleeves', 
the sound of a late

Sunday afternoon --

Langney Green --

Such a miserable tune.

The weekend ends here!

Hairs on my neck

stood up --

Fucking 'Greensleeves'!

Haunted Sundays

And then an Ice cream van

rolled by my window.

-- The Battle of Britain is safe

although the same cannot be said

for Mr Bloody Whippy! 

Day in the life...

The Long Weekend

-- Driving through

empty streets, floodlit, 

waterlogged.

A toy pistol lies

abandoned in the gutter.

All the stray dogs 

were rounded up

over the long weekend.

-- Netball courts 

cracked and overgrown.

A skateboard lies 

upside down, bleached.

The khaki torn tents 

in the car park,

twitching in the 

benign breeze

are the only signs 

of movement.

The car radio

picks up only static...

-- I suppose I should

try and find some petrol.

Day in the life

A Moment in Meads (Part 1)

-- The Sussex Sun 

hovers over Rye,

beaming along 

the paradise coast,

illuminating a 

third floor room 

somewhere in Meads.

On the wooden table

-- A bowl of fresh 

chopped tomatoes,

spinach, cucumber

and onions, 

smothered in 

olive oil, lemon

and chopped garlic.

'King of America'

on repeat --

A white cotton dress

with red poppies

swishes in to the 

kitchen. 

A broad smile and 

hint of Chanel. 

-- Time to open

the Pinot Grigio.

Time to dance...

Day in the life...

Music from the other blue

-- The clatter of vacuum,

glass shattering, 

door slam,

wind blow,

metal gate.

The perpetual racket

raw root canal buzz

of Cicada and 

clumsiness. 

--- Surrounded by 

FUCKING NOISE!

Day in the life...

 32º - South

-- Floating 
above life.

Toasted soil,

rogue clouds.

Dandelions drift

in the scorched

garden.

On the other

side of town

-- Escape routes

are agreed,

false papers issued.

We have been 

BETRAYED!

Day in the life

Trailing in the wake of genius

-- Even the sketches!

Even the sketches

...summon up 

more about love, 

loss and the torment 

of a broken mind.

Whirlpools

of Indigo and 

Ivory Black

-- Mixed with tears 

of the forgotten

muse.

A man, unshaven

sits at his desk

watching the 

sun rise over

unwashed dishes

-- Purple leaves captivate,

caught on the breeze

of another silent morning.

Even the leaves!

Even the leaves

... are left trailing

in the wake of genius.

Day in the life...

Black Flame

-- I am reconciled.

Cold nights outweigh

the diminishing days.

-- Burnt out.

Like the black flame

in my charred

heart.

Medway Man

The restless and relentless nature of the way Billy Childish seems to produce his work is something that inspires and challenges me at the same time. I'm a fan of his poetry, music & his painting. He is a compelling presence. 

He turns over different pebbles on the same beach as me. His life living in the Medway towns throws up some stark images (or more honestly dark memories) of similar experiences. 

He is neither innocent or guilty. He is Billy Childish (amongst other names). 

Today is his birthday. 

Best wishes.

Photo by Anna Huix/Contour by Getty Images

Memories of The Dirt Box and UK Clubbing in the 1980's

I had the pleasure to chat with Rob Milton (The co-founder and original DJ) of The Dirt Box on Wednesday 25th Novemberon my weekly radio show London Calling on Sydney station 2RRR (88.5FM and www.2rrr.org.au). If you'd like to hear some fine music and funny memories. Why not click the link below.

The Dirt Box meets London Calling Uptown

Day in the life...

The Garden

-- Green belt dusk

seeps into night.

The garden settles.

Green Line bus

pushes on 

through the 

countryside.

-- A cupped hand.

The invisible

Old Holborn glow 

stalks the end 

of the Garden.

A voice calls 

into the darkness.

Whatever happened

in Flanders remains...

Day in the life...

 Daisy
 
-- In an out 
the Soundsytems
heaven bound
spirals of smoke
curried goat and Sensi
 
The 10 o’clock
from the coast
to the shadow
of the Westway
-- Red Stripe
and Daisy.
 
The long fringe,
flowers, sinuous.

Good days, 

sad days.

 
-- Gin, Bitter lemon
and Daisy.

A day in the life...

DownLand

-- Stale hay clings 

to the memory

of walking barefoot

across the Downs 

at dawn.

Alfriston flickering 

below the low slung

clouds -- rain heavy.

--- She strides ahead

100 yards, 110 yards

120... 

It is never a good time

to say goodbye...

on DownLand.

A day in the life...

Birdsong and K-pop

-- The clatter of comms

spinning stratospheres

Calling on 

6.5 MHz

-- Traffic spirited away

over the span of

Mooney Mooney Bridge.

The lost telegrams 

never to be read.

Missed proposals.

the relentless Klang

of Birdsong and K-pop.

Wondering will it ever.

STOP

And so...

The ragged mob of narcissists have started to turn in on themselves. From Trump to Cummings... the pace of hate just became too much and the 'outsiders' find themselves back on the outside. 

The real shame is that they'll never properly be brought to account for their litany of mad schemes and contemptible actions. 

Anyway... 

Time to move on everyone.

You shall find love

You shall find love (for T.Emin)

In the swirl of oil

the breadth of canvas

a swish of a brush ---

You shall find love.

In the depths of

his warmest embrace.

In the ashtray of 

the last cigarette.

In the bottom of

the final glass.

You shall find love.

In the birdsong,

in the breeze, 

in the howl,

in the silence and 

in the vapours 

that trail behind us...

 

Day in the life...

Orpheum

Found myself 

in the cinema

slightly drunk

mid-afternoon.

The long walk

from happiness

to Seaford Head.

-- The battle

with the bottle --

Staring into

rockpools and 

chalk caves.

The delicate

twist of an

ozone breeze

gliding North

--- Time to take 

a deep breath

a small step.

Day in the life...

I am Banksy

-- Guerilla tactics

poetry on the streets

the ashes of HEARTBREAK

floating down from heaven

A smoke screen

the filter is LOVE.

Graffiti of the soul

-- A Long Man Tattoo

Staring down the barrel of

DESPAIR 

Will the last person to leave paradise

please turn off the lights....

Day in the life...

And that was it...

-- Looking out the 

same window,

for all these years.

Horizons swept away.

Every day -- gone!

Journeys remembered

destinations forgotten.

--- Boarding the Metro

at Quai de la Gare... 

The tang of 

burnt rubber 

and last night's 

late hour,

sweeps the length 

of the platform.

The look on her face

betrayed nothing --

except her husband.

A perfect day in the perfect pub - #6

"My partner 'n my sadness, my story, my wantoness
My wish, my despair, my erasure, my plantation
My white chocolate, my thoughtlessness, my gracelessness
My courage and my crying, my pockets 'n my mistakes

My body and my sex, my gaze and my helplessness..."

It is 2:35pm and the post-lunchtime lull is precious in the perfect pub. She's gone back to work and 'Lions after Slumber' by Scritti Politti invades the airspace. A song that heralds a slideshow of the past... late nights in Meads... daybreak at Birling Gap... a bottle of vodka and white chocolate on a balcony in Brighton. 

Serendipity swings through the door, sunshine trailing in it's wake...

The cricket is going well. Time for me to do some serious watching, accompanied by a cheeky Sancerre (the other half of Tattinger had seemingly gone the way of the first) and The Guardian's sports quiz of the year (held over from December for the purpose of fictional construct). Joined by Slim, breezing in all Hawaian 40's shirt and dangerous wit. He sits at the table and a pint appears (they know him here). We dash through the hundred questions and score a very passable 92 (we were never going to get the equestrian sports but I should have remembered that David Wilkie won the 200m breastroke, not 100m). 

Another flurry of Aussie wickets means we'll be batting before tea! Not quite Trent Bridge but certainly reminiscent of Melbourne 2010. The Sancerre evaporates, as does Slim's Stella Artois. We cover off key topics: the new book about Samuel Beckett, the potential British Lions starting XV against RSA and uncovering the truth behind what happened to the girl we used to go to school with who became a stripper and glamour model. 

I get more drinks and manage to place a bet with David Jenkins & Sons "traditional bookmakers to gentlemen of a literary persuasion". Fingers crossed for 'Bottle of Smoke'... 

A nice 10 minute interview with Michael Holding fills the break between innings. I remember, in the nick of time, that we (Slim & I) always have Cheesy Wotsits when watching England bat together (it's a luck thing). Thankfully the barman was two steps ahead of me. 

A bowl appears along with an ashtray, a selection of Gitanes, Gauloises, Marlboro (soft-pack), Camel and Lucky Strike, as well as a 1965 Zippo that had seen action at La Drang. They know Slim here...