Danny Boyle, Darkness and the 27 Club

It’s the first Saturday of the Olympics and the

pollen shoots into the heart of my immunity like

V2’s yet it’s odd how the more my nose pours

words snatches of lyrics ping-pong around my

crater-box-brain but who wants to watch table

-tennis when you can flinch at two Austrian’s

trying to anchluss their way through the Murray

brothers Andy is still fighting his opponents and

demons so hard it amazes me the will of instinct

so Kurt’s here is he vomiting his deviant twisted

thoughts into the atmosphere where they coagulate

into something so beautiful only the scared

scarred can comprehend I curse my fucking so

-called creativity which robs me of any

normality shit Andy wears that dark look the I

will not tolerate sub-standard serves face that

prompts him to throw his racket across the court

you can tell he wants to target Jamie’s thick

skull hold tight Andy beware of no love lost

thank God for Danny Boyle’s images which spear

sporadically through the tennis I loved it when

the boy looked at Johnny brave to go underground

and not care what society wants except yes we do

need Attlee’s NHS which we should be so proud of

don’t you dare fuck with it you bastards

in a useless wavering coalition then a quick

snatch of London Calling but blink and Amy has

vanished again so back to Wimbledon and Jamie’s

serve still doesn’t stand up to the better

brother’s scrutiny so I sing Jamie Jamie Jamie

you know I’ve been here before but he doesn’t of

course it’s Amy who knows what becomes before and

after it all Christ I’ve collapsed onto the bed

so exhausted with so many events taking place

simultaneously now I’m gazing at the ceiling like

Polly Harvey under ether the snot lashes down the

my throat like lava it scalds so show me the way

to the next whisky bar because a different

Polly’s back hurts she’s just as bored as me but

that bit’s bollocks I feel more of a nauseous

numbness yet my hands tingle with panic it’s my

heart careering thumping around like a boxing

match when I try to disentangle myself from

straight-jacket sheets I’m feverish wet and am

losing my body heat the cassette plays poptones

whilst I write with that sick compulsion I only

stop to piss sneeze wheeze weigh myself drink

more coffee so jittery sick with adrenaline and

fear someone help I know I am losing control fast

sanity sifts sand-like through my fingers as

rapidly as Ian’s shadow faded he never made it to

27 yet Amy may be drawn to him because she too

gave them what they wanted she let them use her

for their own ends but she has found someone else

who knows he’s no good she launches a package

fastened with a heart-shaped hair-grip with

Kurt’s name on when he peels back the layers he

finds warm milk and laxatives ah sweet erratic

Amy is just a lost little girl who can’t keep

still though one flutter from huge bat-winged

eyes may be enough to re-ignite Jim’s smouldering

embers into that bright burning fire he yearns

for but don’t forget Jimi he’d wear Amy well he

knows this is a golden soul-girl yeah he did that

thing through his guitar he beckons to her

through a fluorescent purple haze so which bad

boy path does she choose when she knows damn well

that as she canters spindly legs teetering in

fuck-me pumps down her lane crazy tumbledown hair

flying it will be the wrong track love is always

a losing game she runs petrified she will be left

to wake up alone facing her black so on the floor

by her feet there still sits that infamous bottle

well today seems to be all loss and the lost

losers are probably cowards they don’t deserve

medals maybe Sunday I can revive a bit of the

dead in me tomorrow tomorrow will never belong to

people like us will it?

The following people moistened my dry cracked brain with bits of inspiration in their own way (all apologies for misinterpretations, misquotes and typos); Andy and Jamie Murray, Kurt Cobain (RIP), Danny Boyle, Tony Parsons and Julie Burchill, The Clash, the late, great Labour leader Clement Attlee, Ian Curtis (RIP), Polly Harvey, Paul Weller, John Lydon, Jim Morrison (RIP), Jimi Hendrix (RIP), Muse, Jeff Buckley (RIP), the Cocteau Twins and the incredible, unique Amy Winehouse (RIP). Last but not least this is also a tribute to my great Mum who is thankfully still alive and creating but is also nearly as bonkers as me.