Hols


SATURDAY Flat sunlit motorway sort of ornamental. Line of cones & vertical oscillation, tough motorway scrub grass plus fake-looking houses oddly contextless & too-neat black approximation to slate for mildly sloping roofs in same sunlight. Tough scrabby line of bitter hills disapprovingly looming primeval nearby. Imagine a shadowy damp forest floor & whatever woodland animals, weird insects, half-glimpsed back-bent man scumpering hastily to under dark bush at side of road, picking a way through these and scumbled watercolour mess of grey cloud. Us meandering at edge of same road plucking distractedly at dusty verge fauna proudly commending selves for going "on holiday". FRIDAY Germanic pipsqueak standing adjacent to line bellowing comedically red-faced w pinstriped arms plunging taut to white knuckled bandy fists near vague tremulous formation of mist held clammy static. Bum-screaming tightly grouped cluster of old folk passing through on way to putative picnic spot. Ranked masses of care assistants attempting to coral same into semblance of order through furious shoutings bulge-eyed. Elsewhere figures spied on in distance do bad tennis. The module is cracking.