Reclining In The Petal Of A Daffodil

Waiting For Samuel Beckett

Everybody knows about the world’s low hum and how only certain people can hear it as if they have a connection with the Earth itself - or with aliens or Godot’s ham and eggs organ. But it isn’t necessarily a sign of a valuable gift, hearing the fridge more clearly than others isn’t considered a helpful skill. But some of us are more sensitive than others and I must recount my experience of heading somewhere that not everyone wants to go. 

I was reclining in the petal of a daffodil when a bumblebee…no that’s not what happened. I’m not sure what I was doing as a child but consequences were far from an idiotic mind. I remember putting stones on the railway track. I don’t think we were trying to derail the train, more like, just crush the stones under the weight of those iron wheels. The train never did derail but at some point whilst living close to the line, it was closed down. I remember going to the deserted platform and the boarded up wooden ticket office, and thinking how progress was a terrible thing - or did I just think of that now?

The legend is that the Bee Gees got the Tragedy rhythm from the rhythm of a train and both John Lennon and Abba got the rhythms for Whatever Gets You Through The Night and Dancing Queen respectively, from George McCrae’s Rock Your Baby. Inspiration appears in the strangest of places and there are often great ideas in places that you wouldn’t normally go - and that suggests that you should do just that more often. 

So, somewhere in the summer of 1974, I decided I was going to make music, I had no reason to think that I could do such a thing, jamming with the local lads certainly wasn’t a pass. Some of those local lads went on to fame and fortune, Dave Balfe and Alan Gill, Wirral luminaries from my hood joined the Teardrop Explodes where as I went the long way ‘round.

I think if I hadn’t have got in a band I might have been a homeless person. In fact as a teenager after throwing away some good jobs, I found myself happiest hitchhiking around Europe with no money and sleeping rough. Odd jobs, and busking, paid for food and shelter and security sometimes came in those random towns and villages, but it wasn’t guaranteed. My point is at 66 I feel the same way about the world, and writing and music has generally saved me. But one thing about writing, I never wanted to write about being in a band whereas it seems that others in bands are eager - if they have the skills, or a ghost writer. 

I didn’t want to compete, win, qualify, I just wanted to be. Oddly I embraced homelessness and collecting (odd bedfellows) and after all these years I’ve landed here in Porto with the legacy and a vibrant creative desire that is my solution to fulfil the responsibility of saving The Archive for posterity, it might even work although it’s an uncertain existence but then it's just until I’m reclining in the petal of a daffodil.