The Accidental Recluse is out today. And ahm pondering. See ahm lookin out an open window. Full of somesuch an 17 years old. A distillery landscape at dusk. Aw rain an incongruous industrial on the epic, sodden moor. Towers an steam an a smell never forgotten – pot ale. Drift. Driftin. Ma music too. Likely The Doors an likely ahm thinkin Jim liked Jack Kerouac an Jack is who I am. Yes? Reincarnated. Me-incarnated? Right on… So reach for the papers an turn the record, turn the spiral notebook an keep write on writin on cause its good innit? Those words of mine. Not so much, no. Ah know that Beckett quote now but no then – ‘Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.’ But who reads on to ‘Whence no farther. Best worse no farther. Nohow less. Nohow worse. Nohow naught. Nohow.’ Know how. That’s it, I guess. It comes. Ye just have to look out enough windows. Ye have to keep lookin up at who’s lookin back at you. An unimpressed 17 year-old even now, what is wrong with that guy, its publication day! He’ll no let ye rest on yer laurels. No siree boab. Stan Laurel, that’s all ahl ever be to that bugger. He still takes more sense of achievement from not crackin a bone when he sees Sally Lawson every mornin at registration…