3 Savile Row. It's a long story

Thanks for the suggestion.

I don't know how you guessed, that I passed that way this morning, and I see from the restorations that you have returned many times since, no skip big enough to hold that door for long I guess.

I imagine a vigil for a death, inconceivable and lonely. Stayed up all night yesterday some point off between now and tomorrow. Tell me it isn't true.

The pantomime wasn't cancelled.

To be continued later today, some where else? www.narviks.info

Forced to quit

Leaving becomes you, gypsy-like as ever, always moving to another campsite. I dreamt that you now live on a hill... that you have laid the room bare, departed just as I found a place of entry.

Train ride back through London Bridge station to New Cross Gate. I saw you passing, looked up and glanced, caught a glimpse of you up there, on the 8th floor of Hercules Tower. Meanwhile the camera from your last trip, to a room I haven't even lived in yet, barely imagined, is full of negatives, forensic evidence of an earlier departure.

You mentioned Savile Row, I will pass by there tomorrow.

Chemical balance

Narvik wrote.

The mould growth had a life of its own and if you had looked closely enough you would have seen the green beneath your finger nails. "Well if you will go writing on peoples windows".

You did well to escape, but you left a trace on the sill that is there stilltothisday.

I have it in my garage.

Having learnt to reproduce that touch,

a chemical imbalance.

wait!

It will play out.

There really was nothing that you could have done to stop the articulate.

I'll see you scruff at 3 Savile Row.

A thousand voices No8

A thousand voices No8, our small child singing in a voice both recognizable and mysteriously from another age. Link Wray playing on the Juke box, a real man in black, on his 50th Birthday, Gibson bent half inside-out and the cut throat razor... yes you should never should have given Hard Rain.

Roll another bottle of cider this way across the black floorboards past the glass eyed dummy and try and remember her name.

Did you hear me? Waterloo bridge and Trafalgar square, 53 bus and a yellow night light on the wet windows, lost somewhere around Peckham Rye. 26.2.76

sentimental journey February 25th 1976

It seems we lost contact? I haven't seen [you] passing this way for days. The winter light is lifting and my brother has written to say "All's good". Charring Cross rd is bleak and the Peabody buildings are still shut. Time seems to be passing slowly. The old Association of British Orchestras on Rupert st has opened its door and welcomed me into the fireplace of the sunken dreams of so many sailors on the high seas. I am currently toasting crumpets by the heat of a Titanic fire. http://www.abo.org.uk/

I hear you might be on-line?

www.narviks.info

www.narviks.info has been restored to working order. 24/2/10

Apologies, but due to unforeseen magnetic interference the web site blog of www.narviks.info was interrupted for several days and normal communication will now switch to that address. thank you for your perseverance. This blog site will remain an active link but further material will be available daily at www.narviks.info

Looking for “Narvik’s Complaint”?

www.narviks.info

...Or maybe I originally wrote

...Or maybe I originally wrote:-

"Running late after a day in the air. The land looked like prime beef, marbled blue and grey.

The 23rd of February on New Cross Station i looked for the temperature gauge in the ticket office 10c.

It won't be Spring until it's 11 degrees. Leaves on the track, delays. The endless line of steel that runs like a vein through Europe stops at the coast and I need a signal box to listen to the twitter of approaching trains.

I see you there. Old fur coat, Russian CCCP, cheap but useful, beaver skin against the cold. A good place to curl up, stained by your visits.

The lake waits glass like for your visit. Don't travel via Amsterdam, you'll arrive late."

CERN

Running late due to perfect flying conditions. 23rd Febrauary

Sorry! I'm running late due to perfect flying conditions. The landscape laid bare like best prime beef steak, marbled grey and blue.

I'm on New Cross station, looking for the temperature. 9 degrees. It won't be Spring until it reaches eleven. Dreaming of a signal box on the sea front at Dawlish, listening to the twitter of steel rails which snake like veins across Europe to the CCCP. Beaver skin coat, stained by your lying, warm against the chill.

Ha! you have the look of the Gdansk ship yard about you today.

A moving experience. 22 cnd February 2010

The moving house.

the Muse wrote and the glass was shattered,

and I’m still decoding the meaning. The LP sleeve is bent at the corners and

the tapes don’t play any more. Your first PC, you won’t know what I mean,

has mildew and that old ZX spectrum doesn’t do wire-frame anymore.

The wine glass cracked.

Last time I tried to get through, you lost contact in mid-September, I just

found that message to you. It reads and (I) quote “ “.

Day twenty. 20th September 2008

*

Quenched.

I thought you might like to know!

"The Large Hadron Collider has gone wrong again..."Everytime she

comes she calls another's name" ...Nothing, but nothing changes.

..."that’s the spirit of the age." to quote Hawkwind.

Narvik.