{"id":6440,"date":"2016-06-10T18:32:45","date_gmt":"2016-06-10T17:32:45","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=6440"},"modified":"2016-07-25T09:37:15","modified_gmt":"2016-07-25T08:37:15","slug":"swansea-2015","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=6440","title":{"rendered":"Swansea, 2015"},"content":{"rendered":"

The friggin\u2019 gabba\u2019s going dubbadubbadubbadubbadubba<\/em> and the whole front room\u2019s jumping, I really should reclaim my decks; this is not the vibe. \u2018Right boy, listen, this is it so far. Yew listening?\u2019
\n          \u2018Yup,\u2019 he shouts.
\n          \u2018Right, listen;<\/p>\n

In this town of crescent moon
\nday breaks too soon
\ncasts shadows too sharp
\nfor my memory
\nShe walks the seafront
\na sanity casualty
\ncocaine casually
\nescapee.<\/p>\n

          Right, yeah. Makes sense?\u2019
\n          \u2018Yeah.\u2019 Some smack \u2018ed\u2019s got hold of my decks and put on some really hardcore shit and it\u2019s hard to talk.
\n          \u2018So I couldn\u2019t get Fake Plastic Trees<\/em> out of my head, you know the A-D-A?\u2019
\n          \u2018Yup.\u2019
\n           \u2018Me and Mam were talking about Radiohead the other day. And I wanted to write about home, yew know, it\u2019s important, like?\u2019
\n          \u2018Yeah mate, yeah, \u2018sabout drugs \u2018n\u2019 stuff.\u2019 He\u2019s so bollocksed but I shall plough on.
\n          \u2018Well, yeah. And\u2026 well, yeah. So this is the chorus;<\/p>\n

And the swans call out to me
\nwhere the sun meets the sea
\nhead west boy head west
\nat the end of the day
\nyou\u2019ll be home.\u2019<\/p>\n

          \u2018Swan-zee! Swan-zee!\u2019 he\u2019s shouting. Obviously I\u2019ve connected with some weird tribal instinct, and one of the Brynmill lads grabs his upheld fist and they chant it for a few seconds, swinging their hands together. They\u2019re laughing now and saying about how shit it is here and how much they love it anyway; \u2018Cos it\u2019s Swansea.\u2019 He hasn\u2019t a clue, like I say; bollocksed. I pass him the spliff that\u2019s doing the rounds, he sits down again and I try the next verse;<\/p>\n

\u2018Jack sees nothing new
\njust turned twenty two
\nworks call centre jobs
\nforgets history.
\nHe cannot see it
\nvolunteer prisoner
\nhorizon divider
\nfuture condemned.\u2019<\/p>\n

          \u2018Who\u2019s Jack?\u2019 he interrupts, and I think this probs isn\u2019t the best time maybe.
\n          \u2018Just a lad. Generic \u2018Swansea Jack,\u2019 yew know?\u2019
\n          \u2018Swansea Jacks, we are \u2018ere!\u2019 he starts and many lads join in, \u2018shag your women and drink your beer!\u2019 And he\u2019s on his feet again and they\u2019re all shouting shit, or shouting about shit and there\u2019s beer being spilt and partygoers getting jostled about. I need more drink. One of them from the rugby\u2019s picked me up and is hugging me in a very rowdy and\/or violent manner – I\u2019m not sure which. And he stinks.
\n          Karl\u2019s shouting, \u2018Put \u2018im down, yew don\u2019t know where \u2018e\u2019s been,\u2019 and they\u2019re all laughing, cheers mate. And we both plonk down again onto the pew, so I reckon I can carry on getting some feedback, such as it is. His eyes aren\u2019t really focusing, although he seems to be trying to look at me and appear interested. He is interested really; he doesn\u2019t do anything else. Except surf.
\n          I shall continue, \u2018But it\u2019s kinda cynical, I think it\u2019s pretty cynical, eh? But we like dark don\u2019t we? We do dark. Not emo though, proper dark innit? Ceri\u2019ll be good on it, but she\u2019ll sing head west girl<\/em> not boy<\/em> eh? Ha! Good thing the English word for girl<\/em> is only one syllable too, eh? Good it wasn\u2019t man<\/em>, \u2018cos then she\u2019d have to change it to woman<\/em> and that wouldn\u2019t scan eh? Ha! Hadn\u2019t thought of that. Here, put it in your pocket for later,\u2019 I slide it into the pocket of his jacket, his leather speedway thing. Wonder if he\u2019s ever washed it. His eyes follow my hand to his pocket, he stares at it, then back up at me, grinning. \u2018Bloody learn it!\u2019 I tell him. He nods, grins wider, takes a swig, looks at me, doesn\u2019t focus very well. He\u2019s not listening.
\n          \u2018It\u2019s a hit,\u2019 he says, tapping his pocket and tilting his bottle, spilling a bit. Hashtag patronised. \u2018What\u2019re yew on Kwel?\u2019 he asks, \u2018Yew had some of that meow from the kitchen?\u2019 he thinks for a second, \u2018Kitty been fed in the kitchen?\u2019 He\u2019s so bloody weird, we should let him have a go at writing lyrics for a change. Though probs best not if we want to avoid an Octopus\u2019s Garden<\/em> incident. Why\u2019s he think I\u2019m bubblin\u2019?
\n          \u2018Naa, just pissed.\u2019
\n          \u2018Yew don\u2019t look pissed, and you\u2019re talking shit-loads,\u2019 he spreads his arms like he\u2019s describing how big a fish he\u2019s caught.
\n          There\u2019s fuckin\u2019 kids from year ten coming in now, little skanky skinny ones thinking they\u2019re it \u2018cos they\u2019re at a big boys\u2019 party. How many Adidas stripes can you fit on six people?
\n          \u2018Karl, yew seen them kids now?\u2019
\n          He turns to look at the door, \u2018S\u2019ok, they\u2019re Sarah\u2019s brother and his mates, they\u2019re sound.\u2019 One of them, brother I assume, approaches my decks and lifts the needle. There\u2019s that noise I\u2019ve always hated of accidentally scratched needle, but followed by the purest silence of nosebleed techno suddenly stopping. Might kick off now though, and everyone\u2019s pointing at the kids and shouting. It\u2019s a wave of a roar, building out of a split second of flat calm, but it\u2019s got humour in it, I\u2019m sure there\u2019s humour in there. It\u2019s ok; there\u2019s only a few twats telling Kid DJ to fuck off. Smack \u2018ed DJ\u2019s not happy but Kid DJ gently hands him his vinyl and speaks to him from behind his hand and he smiles and gestures at my friggin\u2019 decks as if he\u2019s allowing him to use them. Fuck\u2019s sake they\u2019re my fuckin\u2019 decks. Kid DJ flips a disc around and a lush, angular synth and snare kick out and he\u2019s playing Giggs.
\n          \u2018Giggs,\u2019 shouts Karl into my ear. Everyone\u2019s loving the bip bop of the hip hop and this is the vibe now, I\u2019ll have to go chat to this kid. Karl\u2019s bobbing his hands up and down, bottle in one hand, spliff in the other, perched on the edge of the arm chair, head lowered and swaying to the off-beat. This is more like it; whole room\u2019s bouncing, Look what the cat dragged in, look what the cat dragged in<\/em>, he\u2019s doing some good stuff there too, getting some deep bass in and working something dirty underneath. All of a sudden kid\u2019s mates look ok to me, is that bad? Guess it\u2019s just the way we think, not my fault. Wish I had that talent when I was fifteen, but.
\n          The ex-DJ and some of his mates are leaning on the wall by the window, not looking like they\u2019re fans of UK hip hop. I don\u2019t know how they always find out about parties and just turn up, \u2018Hey Karl, who are those fuckers by the window anyway?\u2019
\n          \u2018Dunno. Smack \u2018eds. Always round parties inney? Somewhere to keep warm I s\u2019pose.\u2019
\n          \u2018Better watch they don\u2019t nick anything: Paul\u2019s tv, my decks.\u2019
\n          \u2018Naa, they\u2019re alright. They\u2019ve been here before.\u2019
\n          \u2018They\u2019re not looking too happy, like.\u2019
\n          \u2018They never look happy; they\u2019re smack \u2018eds. And what\u2019re they gunna do, inject us? Yew ever seen a smack \u2018ed fight?\u2019
\n          \u2018No. Have yew?\u2019 He\u2019s so skinny he\u2019d be useless. They\u2019re like scruffy vampires, \u2018Yew ever noticed how vampires are always tidy?\u2019
\n          \u2018They don\u2019t drink each others blood yew know? What do yew mean \u2018tidy\u2019?\u2019
\n          \u2018They just are, in films, always well dressed.\u2019
\n          \u2018Well, proves that lot aren\u2019t vampires then. Food bank chic that is.\u2019
\n          Some lad pushes past and takes the spliff out of Karl\u2019s hand, \u2018Cheers kid,\u2019 he says. On second thoughts he looks more like the smack \u2018ed\u2019s age: thirty-odd, jeans and a black leather jacket, maybe a scouse accent. Another one follows him. Karl\u2019s looking pissed off, but I reckon he\u2019s clocked something about them too and just puffs out his cheeks in his sort of comedy way. Bit too obvious though as second bloke says \u2018What?\u2019 and this could be really bad.
\n          \u2018Nothing Bud,\u2019 says Karl, and I really feel for him and realise just how much I actually care for him. Luckily Bloke Two moves on and follows his mate towards the smack \u2018eds. Karl looks at me, his tiny eyes as wide as he can get them, \u2018What the fuck,\u2019 he mouths.
\n          \u2018It\u2019s your birthday mate, Ceri\u2019s birthday, Paul\u2019s place, we can\u2019t have skanks like that in here wreckin\u2019 the vibe.\u2019
\n          \u2018Yew go and bloody tell them that then, look at the size them!\u2019
\n          \u2018Better not let Paul go tell them, yew know what he can be like.\u2019 He might think twice about those boys though. Bloke One\u2019s talking to one of the smack \u2018eds, very close in like, dwarfing him and hunching down a bit, Bloke Two\u2019s just looking around and toking on the spliff. Hard looking bastards, not like the chavs from round by here, all front and swag, these are proper hard fuckers: flat noses, scars, ink on their necks, thick hands.
\n          \u2018Are they dealing?\u2019 asks Karl and turns round in his seat to look at them.
\n          \u2018Fuck\u2019s sake Karl, don\u2019t look round!\u2019 And don\u2019t jerk back round to me even more obviously yew twonk. Bloke Two\u2019s radar\u2019s working \u2018cos he\u2019s looking straight at us now, \u2018He\u2019s looking at us.\u2019
\n          \u2018Shit, is he coming over?\u2019
\n          \u2018No, dunno, act normal.\u2019 I look at the Kid DJ who\u2019s busy speeding it up and flicking the dirty track in, bringing it up from underneath the Giggs track and it eats it alive. I bob my head, look like I\u2019m enjoying myself. It\u2019s Sleaford Mods. I like what he\u2019s doing and how, but this is dark now, room\u2019s gone darker, Karl\u2019s twitchin\u2019 his head to the beat, looking at nothing in particular. I swig hard on the beer, grab the next from under my chair, Karl takes one too and flips the lids off with his lighter against his fist. I\u2019m crap at doing that but he\u2019s weaker than me, must be technique. Fizzy\u2026Fizzy<\/em>, shout the Mods and it\u2019s so loud no-one\u2019s talking, everyone\u2019s moving to the rough as dogs bass, but only a few girls remain; I guess they\u2019re not so keen on angry old men as the lads. Most girls are stood around the edges trying to scream into each other\u2019s ears, some are leaving into other rooms. I wonder where Ceri is. Some moshing\u2019s breaking out, I worry for Paul\u2019s Mam\u2019s ornaments. I wonder if any of them mean anything, like ours do: Dougs\u2019 candlesticks he gave Mam, all our photos. No photos here, none, just a nautical chart of his Dad\u2019s on the wall. What a twat he is.
\n          \u2018Where\u2019s your sweaty sister?\u2019
\n          \u2018What?\u2019 he leans in.
\n          \u2018Where Ceri?\u2019 I mime searching.
\n          \u2018Kitchen.\u2019
\n          Bloke One has the smack \u2018ed DJ right up against the wall but isn\u2019t actually touching him, just right up in his face. His elbow jerks up and the smack \u2018ed DJ collapses, Bloke Two is looking at me. Why\u2019s no-one else noticing this? Some girls point, some lads ignore the girls looking at them to do something. Time to go, \u2018Let\u2019s go,\u2019 I hit Karl\u2019s leg with the back of my hand, stand and turn for the kitchen. He follows. We push through the party. Mel smiles and squeezes my arm, pity she\u2019s not fit, but it relaxes me a little. I must look stressed so smile back. Mike hugs me, then Karl behind, \u2018Yeah, yeah, sound mate, sound,\u2019 sez something about the tune, I nod, keep moving. I can see the reflection of the room in the huge windows; my stupid head above most of the others, orange lights of the bay down to the sea. I re-focus like a magic eye picture and I scan behind for the dealer thugs. I can make out my decks with Kid DJ\u2019s head bobbing about, one hand clasped to his headphones. Just to his side in the shadows are the shapes of the smack \u2018eds, but the dealers have gone. Shit, keep moving.
\n          We make it to the hallway where doors lead off to all the different rooms, each one as soulless as the next. I really want to get out of here. \u2018In here,\u2019 says Karl, and I see why as the way into the kitchen\u2019s jammed. We step through into a spare bedroom, one of the ones I\u2019ve always wondered about, how they keep it ready like a hotel and decorate it with a fake plant. There\u2019s a few kids from sixth form cuddled up on the bed, not getting off, just chilling. We nod, then flop against the wall behind the door. \u2018Did they follow us?\u2019 asks Karl.
\n          \u2018Dunno. Maybe. They\u2019d moved anyway.\u2019
\n          The door opens again and Blokes One and Two step in, move close to our feet, smile at the kids on the bed who look like they\u2019ve just shat. \u2018Cosy,\u2019 says Bloke One, definitely a scouse accent, \u2018You mates with Ted?\u2019
\n          \u2018Who\u2019s Ted?\u2019 says Karl. I assume Ted is the smack \u2018ed who\u2019s just been smacked.
\n          \u2018No,\u2019 I say.
\n          \u2018Why\u2019d ya keep looking at \u2018im then?\u2019 says Bloke Two.
\n          \u2018Wasn\u2019t,\u2019 oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.
\n          \u2018\u201cWasn\u2019t\u201d, fucking bollocks to this mate,\u2019 and he laughs at Bloke One, \u2018Come \u2018ed, fuckin\u2019 stinks in \u2018ere.\u2019 He steps back leaving Bloke One standing still above us. He hasn\u2019t moved, is just inches from our feet and staring down at us. Maybe they\u2019ve got a good cop bad cop thing going on. Maybe they are cops? Still hasn\u2019t moved. No, definitely not cops.
\n          \u2018When you wos lookin\u2019 at us, what did youse see?\u2019 he speaks after ages.
\n          \u2018Nothing,\u2019 we both say together.
\n          \u2018You blind?\u2019
\n          \u2018No,\u2019 I say.
\n          \u2018Just didn\u2019t see anything, I was looking the opposite way, like,\u2019 says Karl.
\n          \u2018Opposite from what?\u2019 asks Bloke.
\n          \u2018Nothing, yew know, just couldn\u2019t see much,\u2019 Karl\u2019s sketching now, I can hear he\u2019s lost it, \u2018dark in there, can\u2019t really see faces, yew know, identify.\u2019
\n          \u2018Identify?\u2019
\n          \u2018No, just too dark, yew know?\u2019 Bloke One kneels down on one knee so he\u2019s much closer to Karl then reaches forwards slowly until his hand completely covers Karl\u2019s face then he pushes his head back against the wall, and although there\u2019s not much movement I can tell he\u2019s pushing hard. Karl\u2019s making a weird low noise. I can\u2019t do anything, why can\u2019t I move? Sorry mate, sorry lovely stupid Karl.
\n          \u2018If I push harder now I can split your nose, rip an eyelid. Took a lad\u2019s eyelids off last week. Not with a knife, just pulled till they ripped off. You know the funny thing about losing eyelids is even though your eyes are wide open, you lose your sight. Go blind slowly. So then you wouldn\u2019t be able to fuckin\u2019 see anything, whether it\u2019s dark or not.\u2019 Karl makes grunting noises. Bloke One looks at me and reaches his right hand slowly towards my face. Shit shit. I look away and move a bit to the left. He says, \u2018Don\u2019t be a cunt,\u2019 and flicks my ear, so I\u2019m going to let him grab my face because I can\u2019t run and I can\u2019t fight, and he grabs my face. He\u2019s incredibly strong, there is no way I can get out of this. I can strain my eyes rightwards between his index finger and thumb and I can see Karl\u2019s left eye looking sideways at me; he looks more scared than I am. Bloke One is ignoring the kids on the bed, who wisely aren\u2019t moving a muscle, but surely they\u2019re witnesses, so he can\u2019t hurt us too bad can he? His hands smell of spliff and aftershave, must be from when he got ready this evening, splashing a bit on and rubbing it in. He is clean shaven, cropped dark hair, gelled back. He\u2019s got one of them tear tattoos by his left eye. He\u2019s moving his head slowly like he\u2019s clicking his neck and he\u2019s inhaling us, swear he just sniffed us. He\u2019s getting off on this, I reckon he\u2019s got a hard-on. Suddenly he bangs our heads together, moves his hand surprisingly quickly and flicks Karl hard in one eye, then stands. Karl shouts and holds his eye. \u2018Fuckin\u2019 Taff pricks,\u2019 says Bloke One and leaves.
\n          One of the kids on the bed leans over and hands us a bottle of vodka. I always thought he did art because he\u2019s got green hair, \u2018Here, yew might need this,\u2019 he says.
\n          \u2018Cheers,\u2019 says Karl and unscrews the lid. He drinks quickly, taking little pauses to swallow and say \u2018Ugh,\u2019 then continues. He passes it to me. It burns and soon we\u2019ve drunk most of it. Green kid looks a bit pissed off, but under the circumstances I don\u2019t give a shit.
\n          \u2018Yew ok mate?\u2019
\n          \u2018D\u2019yew think they\u2019ve gone?\u2019 Karl says.
\n          \u2018Yeah, reckon they have, they don\u2019t wanna be hanging around here do they?\u2019
\n          He nods. \u2018Try not to bang your head quite as hard against mine next time,\u2019 he says.
\n          \u2018Luckily my \u2018fro gave us some padding.\u2019
\n          \u2018Had to be good for something.\u2019
\n          \u2018We won\u2019t see them around will we?\u2019
\n          \u2018Naa. Probably not. Never seen them before. But then we don\u2019t go to gay clubs.\u2019
\n          \u2018Yeah, he was a bit gay. I thought he was going to fuck us.\u2019
\n          \u2018Me too! He\u2019d do yew first, save the best for afters.\u2019
\n          \u2018Well, yew have experience, he could tell that from your eyes.\u2019
\n          \u2018I\u2019ve got gay eyes now have I?\u2019
\n          \u2018It\u2019s ok to be gay Karl, about time you dealt with it.\u2019
\n          \u2018Pass the voddie you twat.\u2019 I pass him the bottle, but there\u2019s not much left and I can feel the rush of it starting from my burning stomach. It feels good, driving out the adrenaline and replacing it with fuzzy warmth. \u2018Speaking of gay, what was the end of those poncy lyrics? Something about some lad called Jack?\u2019
\n          \u2018Fuck off, poncy lyrics, I\u2019m telling yew, it\u2019s our Fake Plastic Trees<\/em>.\u2019 It\u2019s not poncy. Is it? Oh bollocks I feel embarrassed now, thought he liked it.
\n          \u2018Go on, how\u2019s it end?\u2019
\n          \u2018Right, erm\u2026 It\u2019s in your pocket.\u2019
\n          \u2018Oh yeah,\u2019 he pulls it out, reads;<\/p>\n

\u2018Jack sees nothing new
\njust turned twenty two
\nworks call centre jobs
\nforgets history.
\nHe cannot see it
\nvolunteer prisoner
\nhorizon divider
\nfuture condemned.\u2019<\/p>\n

          \u2018Well?\u2019 want to know what he thinks but he\u2019s struggling to focus from the page to me, or maybe he\u2019s just out of focus anyway.
\n          \u2018A-D-A, yew said?\u2019
\n          \u2018That was Fake Plastic Trees<\/em>.\u2019
\n          \u2018Right. Best not nick it.\u2019
\n          \u2018What do yew think of the lyrics?\u2019
\n          \u2018Bit poncy.\u2019
\n          \u2018What the fuck\u2019s poncy<\/em> mean? In your head,\u2019 I tap his head, \u2018what\u2019s it mean?\u2019
\n          \u2018Gerr-off. Yew know, like, sort of, not shit exactly, just\u2026\u2019
\n          \u2018Not shit. Well that\u2019s good.\u2019
\n          \u2018No not shit, no, just not us<\/em>, yew know? Where\u2019s it gunna fit in the set list?\u2019
\n          \u2018In the middle; gives us a ballad. It\u2019s a fuckin\u2019 ballad innit?\u2019
\n          He\u2019s reading it again, \u2018What noise do swans make?\u2019
\n          \u2018Eh?\u2019
\n          \u2018And the swans call out to me<\/em>; what noise do they make?\u2019
\n          Green kid up on the bed says, \u2018Honk honk.\u2019
\n          \u2018Fuck off,\u2019 I say, but don\u2019t mean it to the green kid, so I say, \u2018Not yew, we like yew and your vodka, diolch yn fawr iawn,\u2019 and I say to Karl, \u2018It\u2019s not what they actually say, they don\u2019t actually call out.\u2019
\n          Green kid says, \u2018I like it.\u2019
\n          \u2018Swans don\u2019t speak, but,\u2019 says Karl.
\n          \u2018It\u2019s how yew feel about the swans, Swansea; home,\u2019 I\u2019m pulling teeth here, luckily we\u2019re anaesthetised. Hard word to say that, wonder if I can, my mouth\u2019s so numb, \u2018Anaesfefised.\u2019
\n          Green kid laughs.
\n          \u2018Eh?\u2019 says Karl, \u2018Ceri\u2019ll be good on it, but. Good for her lower range stuff.\u2019
\n          \u2018She\u2019ll sing anything; she can do anything,\u2019 I poke him in the chest.
\n          \u2018Stop poking me,\u2019 then he thinks for a second, \u2018Yew should tell her, yew know?\u2019 he says, and his face is doing weird stuff, I think he\u2019s trying to wink but managing to move just his wispy beard and wrinkle random parts of his forehead. He looks seriously at his feet and then sideways at me again, \u2018Tell \u2018er,\u2019 he says, \u2018yew know?\u2019 and he touches his nose with his finger, reaches round my shoulders and hugs, so I hug him back and his beard\u2019s tickling my ear and he shouts into it, \u2018Tell her yew love her man,\u2019 then leans back a bit looking pretty wavy. \u2018Yew love Ceri,\u2019 he says and touches his nose again, \u2018I can see it.\u2019 He gets up unsteadily. He looks bloody tall \u2018cos I\u2019m still sitting down. \u2018I\u2019m gunna tell her \u2018cos Paul can be a twat.\u2019
\n          He\u2019s gunna tell her what? Oh God he\u2019s gunna tell I love her. Oh crap, oh crap. \u2018Oi!\u2019 he\u2019s not listening. He\u2019s well pissed now and walks into the wall before surging out into the hall. \u2018Oi!\u2019 I get up quick and need to hold the wall as the room spins. He needs a diversion. I must divert him. Karl: abort, abort! She was in the kitchen, I hope she\u2019s still there. No time to message. Stay there girl, stay there Ceri, happy with Paul, drinking in the kitchen, \u201cMr. Dependable\u201d; you said he was dependable. I\u2019ll save the day. Kweli to the rescue. Super-Kweli! He\u2019s heading for the kitchen! Luckily it\u2019s still mobbed. Grab his arm and spin him up the stairs, \u2018Upstairs Karl boy, lets see who\u2019s up here,\u2019 he follows, good lad. He\u2019s so pissed. He\u2019s talking to everyone on the stairs as I weave and he stumbles. Don\u2019t knock that spliff over! Oh fuck he\u2019s spilt that lad\u2019s spliff; not happy.
\n          \u2018Oi! Watchit kid.\u2019 There\u2019s bits of gear and baccy all over the shag-pile. Lad\u2019s picking it up and getting nylon in there too. Probs not taste too good.
\n          \u2018Yew love her,\u2019 says Karl, swaying, leaning down towards Lad. Bit off-subject considering, not much of an apology.
\n          \u2018I\u2019ll bring yew some of mine,\u2019 I say; to the rescue again, putting out fires, me.
\n          \u2018Yew fuckin\u2019 love \u2018er!\u2019 he says dead loud. Don\u2019t say her name mate, please. And everyone in earshot cheers and raises drinks and he punches the air. And there\u2019s Paul now! passing the bottom of the stairs; he\u2019s seen me seeing him and he knows I\u2019m stressed \u2018cos I can\u2019t hide it. Karl hasn\u2019t seen him yet and he\u2019s doing it again, \u2018Yew fuckin love Ce\u2026\u2019 but I\u2019ve yanked him hard and he\u2019s landed on the landing, appropriately enough, and now he\u2019s puking. Brilliant. I\u2019ll have to clean it. But for now, up, up boy to the next level, up to bed. He\u2019s leaning on me, skinny lad, and he\u2019s saying, \u2018Sorry Kwel mate, sorry,\u2019 and gesturing at the puke. So I guess he\u2019s forgotten his love mission and I\u2019m dropping him on Paul\u2019s bed in the recovery position, safety first, safety second and third.
\n          I sit with him and wonder what he\u2019d be like as a brother in law, and I think we\u2019d have a laugh. Paul\u2019s a lot less fun; serious bastard, Paul. Do I love Ceri? Actually properly love her? She\u2019s so fit and clever and talented, looks amazing tonight in her new wetsuit. And I need a third verse, something about football maybe. But no one else likes footie, so it\u2019d be vetoed, voted out, it\u2019s a democracy after all. So maybe something political about the decline of industry, or how Cardiff still gets everything, or something about Dylan Thomas maybe, some quote. <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The friggin\u2019 gabba\u2019s going dubbadubbadubbadubbadubba and the whole front room\u2019s jumping, I really should reclaim my decks; this is not the vibe. \u2018Right boy, listen, this is it so far. Yew listening?\u2019           \u2018Yup,\u2019 he shouts.           \u2018Right, listen; In this town of crescent moon day breaks too soon casts shadows too sharp for my memory She […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":168,"featured_media":6511,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":[]},"categories":[335,333],"tags":[],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"\nSwansea, 2015 - The Manchester Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=6440\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Swansea, 2015 - The Manchester Review\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"The friggin\u2019 gabba\u2019s going dubbadubbadubbadubbadubba and the whole front room\u2019s jumping, I really should reclaim my decks; this is not the vibe. \u2018Right boy, listen, this is it so far. 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