Dezember 2003

A short note from Jackie (18/12/2003)

Thanks for the excellent response to my wonderful new half live half studio OCEAN.

I have in front of me 2 folk who have asked for an album but i don't have enough info to send them: they are - Mark from Stoneleigh Place in London - Mark, what's your second name? Shall send it when i know... Jim or Ian whose girlfriend won't let him sell the car to buy my Gallaher guitar (she sounds like a weirdo - get away afore it's too late) - i have no address for you - but you do mention Plymouth...

If you could both send details to: [email protected]

always thinking of you......jackie

THE DEEP POOL AND THE DARKEST NIGHT

I remember some years ago, my friend Jason Wright, who is now director of The Core Trust, the holistic addiction centre which i co-founded some years ago, and myself decided that we needed to exorcise the building from which the Trust operated. Lots of old ladies had been dumped there to die before we took over this whole row of cottages and turned them into one connected centre. Some of the old ladies were pitiful in their final years and months, and we felt it was right to try and address the lingering energetics of misery, and, indeed, any other possible malevolent shapes that had gathered to wait over the years.

We decided that the thing to do was stay awake all night alone in the building on the night of the Winter Solstice, and gathered material to read to each other through the night, as it was important that we did not fall asleep. Jason was better at this than i was, but there again, i had lived in these buildings before they became Core, and was actually part of the source of psychic infection, so part of me just wanted to sleep and continue the distress. Jason valiantly read on, louder and louder, so that i could not depart the scene through fatigue and mental scarring, and for this i shall always be grateful to him. The grey dawn came, and we staggered out into the cold central London light, where the poor were already gathering for their dismal battles with Social Security next door in Tresco House, Lisson Grove, whilst halibut was being delivered to the Seashell fish and chip restaurant which abutted the project at that time. We walked past the closed second-hand bookshops where we had whiled away many a happy hour finding obscure collections of poetry,and funny books you'd otherwise not come across - 'Time Distortion In Hypnosis' springs to mind. Past the closed Irish pubs and the Italian cafe where the man couldn't say egg and bacon, but always said 'egg-a-bacon'. Past the Saturday flea market whose name i have just forgotten, and past Paddington Green police station, where suspected IRA terrorists were taken for interrogation. Somehow the locals always knew about the imminent arrival of one of these suspected terrorists, perhaps because coppers with sub-machine guns appeared in this part of the Edgeware Road about 2 hours before such arrivals.

I remember once my friend Scots John and me were leaning against the railing watching this weirdly ancient scene of people gathering in anticipation of the arrival of a particularily heavy Irish geezer. We had a bottle of codeine linctus and a bottle of whisky to while away the hours, and absolutely nothing better to do with our lives at this time, so we leaned and blethered, happy to be part of the macabre pageant (is that how you spell it i wonder?). Suddenly a voice said 'oi', and we turned round to see a sly grinning chip owner looking at us. He said - 'so, are you two policemen then?' in a kind of jeering, mocking way. John and me were quite good at ad-libbing in these sorts of situations, so i took the lead. I got too close to this guy and said in a heavy east London accent 'So, is this your chip shop then mate?'

John came close as well, giving him a very hard scrutinizing look, and said 'ANSWER my colleague!'

The fellow completely bought it that we were indeed plainclothes policmen, and stammered 'y y yyes'. I said well let's go inside, and i'll need to see some proof of ownership. We all went in the chip shop which was full of the aforementioned poor folk who had been at Social Security, eating chips with watered-down red sauce, while waiting for the pubs to open so they could spend their giros in a splurge. The guy said ' this is my wife - these men are policemen' he said to her - 'tell them it's our cafe' he said nervously turning his hands inside out (if you see what i mean). She anxiously confirmed this, so we looked at each other, and i said we-ell, okay, but no more cheek, all right?', to the bloke.

'No more cheek' he agreed nodding his head like Churchill the TV dog.

John said - 'also, we want some fish and chips', so they hurried to give us a huge bag of stuff each - our first meal that day.

As we turned to go, two real plainclothes policemen sternly blocked our way.

'It's against the law to impersonate a police officer' this utter hardman said - 'you're both under arrest'.

John started to pathetically explain that it was just a joke that had got out of control.

'We watched the whole thing mate', the lead rozzer said, 'and you can hand back those fucking chips for a start'.

This we did to hoots of derision from the assembled cast of low-life customers who had been watching the whole scene with awe.

'C'mon' the copper said, indicating for us to leave the place with them - now we were very unhappy - we knew the best that could happen would be that we would spend a day and night in the cells, and then get yelled at in the morning. The worst? - well....we're talking Paddington Green here, not a rural cop shop.

We trudged outside, heads down, trying to look completely hopeless and harmless, while people on the top decks of buses pointed at us and frowned.

The lead filth put his face very close close to mine,looked at me for a long 30 seconds, then with no expression whatsoever on his face, said 'piss off'.

Our relief was like a tidal wave - we moved away down the pavement quickly, John turned and said 'cheers mate' - the copper said go fuck yourself, and the chip shop owner stood with his hands on his hips and a John Wayne-style look on his face...

But what has this to do with me and Jason? Nothing really - it's just that i can't remember what we did after we left the environs of The Core Trust, but i do remember this other day i have described.

I'm about to go and get the train to play the 12-Bar Club in London, my last show of the year, then i'm going home to light some Tibetan incense and have a long think about my life and what i've become - the darkest night will soon be upon us, and one must pay proper tribute to unknowable shapes - what is revealed is always in a frame, and sometimes it's best to be like an infant, more interested in touching the frame than looking at the contained image.

The songs keep flowing and i'll see you when the sun returns.

jl

the main November 2003's column