1950–2011

Books, good books, could be written about the bizarre, unfathomable rules of factory work. I remember working at Metal Box factory in Carlisle at the end of the Sixties – I got the sack for not getting my hair cut, because, apparently, my long hair could get caught in the immense presses and I’d be sucked in and flattened to death…

The death of my brother Ed has led to me thinking about the past in ways that I want to, but also in unbidden ways. I’ve been engulfed by kind of filmic snapshots of early days in Scotland – intensely hot childhood summers in the town of Leslie, Fife, Scotland, but also winters of deep snow … Snowdrops will always make me think of Ed now.