This is a short article I penned for the (now defunct?) local Essex ‘zine Skip to the ‘End - the apostrophe is there for pure punnage. Don’t think it ever made it by the deadline for publishing so this may be it’s debut. It’s in my cynical tone, as ever, but bizarrely less despondent than the norm. No?

Attempting to describe (or perhaps; rationalize) Southend-on-Sea to someone recently, whom so far has managed to avoid all contact with here or hereabouts, I found myself flailing - there was actual verbal flail-age. For a start; it’s not ‘on sea’ - Southend only borders the estuary on its wettest side. Upon-Thames would be more just were it not for the dangerous echos of the everso slightly upmarket. Geographically speaking we’re precisely fixated upon the arse crack of the isles, or somewhere in Rolfaroo’s mail sack if you prefer (which sounds just as vulgar should your mind work that way).

The amount of times I’ve caught myself following “Me? Oh, I’m an Essex boy..” with “..though not an ‘Essex boy’ you understand” makes me blush. There are parts of this country, this county even, where inhabitants revel in their home pride (no - not the sliced white loaves). The amount of potential Southend has is always prevalent to those, like myself, who live here and have their eyes set to the periphery, potential bubbling like the magma of a crustated chav volcano. I just wish I didn’t have to pray for a cultural Krakatoa to see it.

Bonfire on beach for B for birthday ..can’t think of any more words beginning with ‘b’.

There will come a time, perhaps not too distant, that we reminisce about the heady days of actual seasons for the weather. The age old dilemma of whether or not to take that coat out into the baking sun is more than likely to get you either pelted with hail or third-degree sun burnt it would seem. The future is sunglasses with built-in wipers - you heard it here first.

I’m a little like that - the brooding storms and heat haze of the head (all internal of course). I haven’t been angry in the longest time.. longer than I can recollect to be honest. Sure, things, people, stuff can annoy, irk the irk, but I think I’m pretty bullet proof these days. I used to feel as if I lived outside myself - floated above and a little to the side (what memories I have held on to are indeed seen from this ’stand’ point) but now, I look out from back in my brain space somewhere, peering out the sockets where my eyes should be rather than actually through them. A self-imposed bubble I guess (but I’m no Gyllenhaal, alas).

Things are still full to the brim with busy at the moment. I’m having trouble keeping up. Someone observed just the other day that “For someone who doesn’t do anything you are always doing something” which is only really half an insult I suppose. People seem to have forgotten how depressed I got when I was doing something but that is by the, as they say; by. I’ve often questioned why everything I enjoy is just a distraction.. then I stop questioning that and just internally get angry at myself as ever.

I have no idea what I’m going on about - ignore me, I’ve been left on my own for half an hour and I’m nursing a mouth full of ulcers, so all of this is probably fueled by a turbulent Bonjela overdose.

A small note to the overseers of this here country’s cultural parade; the reverberating thought when walking away from an enjoyable bank holiday afternoon intellectually meandering about the Natural History museum should not be ‘Ooh, that giant whale needs a dust’. Huff.

After recently being edge of the seat close to a) making a video for Radiohead, and b) going to Cannes with twenty grand in our pockets courtesy of Spike Lee and Michel Gondry - but being narrowly denied both (tsk) Littlenobody is now being featured and currently grappling for highest rated placement in a festival judged by, amongst others, de facto evil bastard Kevin Spacey. He’s in the theatre now don’t-you-know. So.. not everything’s all that bad.

Saying that; I’m not religious in the slightest, but if anything resembled the four horsemen of an oncoming apocalypse more than a Sex and the City movie, I don’t want to know.