Available through Butterfly Effect on 12" vinyl, pressed on Teesside by Press On Vinyl.

White goods
One Friday morning, in the kitchen of a ground floor flat, a large pile stirred. The pile was named Tosh, and Tosh had been roused by a sound. Disturbed, assaulted, he addressed the source of the noise.
“Broken tap. One broken tap. A broken tap. Broken tap. Pissing good water into a basin that doesn’t want or need it. Everything ends up on the floor. I’ve been there many times. By skip by tip my spit all going to the same pit but we learned, didn’t we? Can’t see the tellies for the TV. It's bin day baby! Rag and bone dearie! All your sexy white goods. Recycle your clotting blood.”
Another rage was coming to the boil in him. He grabbed at his ears and roared.
“Ahhhh! The allure the trick. The subtle American. Give it all up? Then where will we
be? Just the girl and me. Just the girl and me. Just the girl and me...”
Tosh continued his mantra as he twisted and rolled to his feet. It became clear then that he was not one pile but one of many amongst many. The pile that he had emerged from began with a pile of mattresses, four in total; they supported a pile of bedding. Atop the bedding were many, many piles of ideas, in the form of scrawled words on crumpled papers in dozens of plastic carrier bags. The key to this labyrinth lay somewhere in the now vaguely mobile pile of dirt, clothing and hair that was Tosh. Or at least it would when he was in better fettle. He grimaced and went to wake the girl, picking his footing carefully but still being unable to avoid knocking a half-naked mannequin into a leaning tower of microwaves.

Free tea in spoons
Tosh’s favourite public house opened at 8 but pride prevented him from entering until 9.30, when the girl was at school. His anticipation was not for intoxication but for free tea. He bought one cup and abused their refill policy until 3.30, thinking,
“I like to watch you pulling on that cigarette like you're trying to get to the end of it. Gulping on that sup like oblivion sits at the bottom of the glass. For today it does and today will do. All dayer teas in spoons. Good for two if you know what to do. Care for your receipt. Care for it and it will care for you.”
Grinning, Tosh set off for the gents.
“Today is good...”
But a voice in the crowd bothered him.
“...and today will do. There was something wrong in what he said.” Another voice, now addressing him. It was her:
“Watch where you’re going Tosh. The smell on your skin is more than I can take in and I don’t like to think that I’ve been where you’ve been.”
Her words stung him, and her scowl underlined them. But he bore them stoically and prepared to speak lines that he had rehearsed at length.

To the woman and back
“You kept the best parts of me. You let me play with them when you were here but long has this chair sat vacant and there is little left, just things.”
He waited patiently until she thawed and nodded to a nearby table. It was circular, small, intimate. Seated, she opened her mouth several times over a minute or two but closed it again each time. He saw that she was struggling and thought to try writing instead. A bashed and beaten notebook emerged and Tosh began flicking through yellowing pages. Her gaze moved along pitted sleeve to gnarled, callused hands, dark not with sun but with dirt. His nails, like hers were long, but lacking her femininity, almost lacking humanity.
“You were 17 once truly but I’ve always been 43. I am weak tea. I write this pre- emptively. Deficiencies built in me; I’ll never change.”
Taking his hand, she replied:
“It’s too easy to be a certain kind. To be happy takes leaps and strides and misery is a place to hide. You never knew what you wanted so how was I supposed to give it to you? I’d never been hated before that I know of. It took some getting used to. Tosh, never go back the way you came.”
She had let go of his hand and without a second glance, stood and showed him her back. She returned to the bar, to the friends that had supported her through it all, kept her going. There had been always something to do, they made sure of it. A birthday, an engagement, a full hen weekend away. Tosh had always hated them, called them false friends, but when she had needed them, they had been there. It was helping too. She was getting better, stronger every day. After months of hard work, she was no longer a risk to herself or others. She would have her little girl with her soon, but she had to be patient. Still thinking of the girl, she returned home, and putting pen to paper she wrote...

Letters, unsent
“To the girl who thinks I don’t want her, who won’t let me explain. The stories he shovels you are close to insane. Evenings I could wander, invisible to both of you. I tried but some little thing was always missing. Eternally non-maternally mine, huddled in your favourite duffle, pushing me out of your bubble. And, to Tosh collecting your trinkets, who saw value in me. My undandy vigilante. The anti-hero trapped deep in thought, you might float high above us all, but grand ideas and kind gestures never made you a better man. I took one look at your steel grey Nova, no room on the back seat to lay me down gently. Stuff and things in threes. Sheets and waves of papers crashing. To me you looked like drowning. If anyone needed saving, it was you.”
The fatigue of a same-day-hangover multiplied by catharsis settled on her. She let the pen fall and climbed the stairs to bed.

Welcome
As the whistle of wind through loose roof tiles gave way to the pleasant swish and crunch of boot on gravel, the postie tentatively approached the flat with another obscene volume of packages in hand. He wondered:
“Do you step over a man to deliver his mail? Wake him or pop it in his hand as he sleeps? I wonder every morning of late. Though so many I have seen, never have I pondered more, what lies beyond this threshold? The letter box stays shut, and the man lays on before it, unstirring though I feel his closed eyes stare.”
He bent to place the parcels near the still, prostrate figure, but his hand was deflected by an invisible wall of hatred. The mute occupant of 2a emitted a thick stinking fury, even when mimicking sleep. He dropped the delivery and spun to make his exit but the lock to the fire exit stuck. He jiggled it quietly, but it held. Panic was overcoming him now. He put his full weight into the door and burst out into the clean air and then slowed to his usual jolly amble and resumed his route.

Cages and bubbles
Whilst Tosh (forced onto his doorstep for lack of room in his bed) was feigning sleep to intimidate the postman, his daughter sat at her desk, in tired reflection. Surrounded by her father’s bags of ephemera, she wrote to no one.
“Stifling and suffocating, just how I like it. A tight cocoon its strong arms. I can push them away they’ll bend but they won’t break. They’ll snap gently back, and no-one can get to me. I never wanted to be born. Your strange ways make me feel weird and I’m scared of you. Your sharp jagged edges are confusing. Cold and metallic, aliens with dirty faces. You can’t touch me. I’m not here, or you’re not, either way, we aren’t here together. My bubble is bouncy and elastic. It lets me scream. The sound never comes back to me. I don’t know what you mean when you look at me. Who’s turn is it to speak.”
The morning was progressing, as mornings do and Tosh was preparing to go shopping. Tosh liked the charity shops on Saturday morning. If he timed it right, he got first look at the 9-to- 5ers’ discarded loot. As he opened the door to leave though, he found himself facing his estranged friend, Mr Grimes.

Mirrow
A distant tune came from Grimes’ headphones as he spoke in time.
“I’ve been away a while, a broken heel. There’s only one way to break a heel. “Tell me mister Grimes, who were you visiting when you made that fateful jump? Face the wall. Get down and crawl. You and yours will fall.”
He dropped the policeman’s pose and entered, laughing.
“You see; old Tosh was an expert! A Hector gannet! People to feel comfortable around. Living life with the cheats on. “The best way to get smashed off a tenner? Come see big T old boys and I’ll show you how.” But now you’ll say “Even the good drugs aren’t worth this. They aren’t worth this.””
He yanked the cord from his mobile phone, switching it to speaker mode. A kick drum gave a beat to his plea:
“I’ll let you in again. We’ll let you in again. I’ll let you in again, but you’ve been away a while. I’ll let you in again. We’ll let you in again. I’ll let you in again, but you’ve been away a while.”
Tosh stood still, quiet, watchful. Grimes’ face twisted and he continued with venom, now. Still unable to believe how his old friend was living.
“I’ve been away a while, but you’ve been gone forever. We wished you’d died at 27 after just 12 classic episodes but on you go. Like hair and nail. Weeds wild in a forgotten garden. A smudge on the glass from a forehead long departed. You paid for your shackles. Mine came free. You severed the line that ran the length of your palm and closed your eyes. The breath you drew was underwhelming. Too much pressure I suppose. You’d always suffered from stage fright. Now you couldn’t even die right.”
With disdain, he roamed through the flat, shaking his head as he moved.

Mr Grimes, in reply
Tosh observed Grimey. What was he doing here? Why now? Who did he think he was to judge? Why was he dressed as a milkman? Tosh was angry but he was distracted, his attention was nagged by a deep urge which, having announced itself quietly was now becoming insistent, rising, inevitable like a mighty sneeze and he turned towards the door. He had no time for this. He had a routine! He had to get to the charity shop. He could still make it. But what about Mr Grimes? He might not be beyond saving. Tosh rose up to his full, modest height and arms wide, began to turn slowly as he spoke,
“I can look at the back of my head in the mirror. Any angle I please, for I have 17.”
Grimey’s restless eyes scanned the flat and, it was true, there were a lot of mirrors, though he did not check Tosh’s count. There were mirrors, televisions, fridges, and piles of bags of papers as tall as he was. He tried to ignore the chaos and focus on what Tosh had to say. He wanted to give his old friend a chance but a yelled reply was already bubbling in his head, ready to erupt as Tosh continued.
“The back but never the front. I won’t let them see. The world spins against me. Even the phone's ring snoops. It probes with ...”
shrill
fingertips.
It picks
and
picks
and
picks!
And why wouldn’t it? There are truths and wonders
in this flat
that would blow your grimey mind.”
"Tosh mate,
no one cares
about your bags of
bags of
bags of
bags of
bags of shite.
Y ou need to
wrap this right in
They laugh about you now I’m here to talk
and bring you back
to earth!
Come on!
We miss our big T!”

After school club
The girl held a tumbler against the wall and her neck craned as she bent and twisted around and over boxes for the best acoustic position. She was of course rooting for Grimey, for sanity, but was not surprised to hear the stalemated collapse of the discussion and her old “uncle’s” mumbling exit. She burned with rage at Tosh’s deluded boastings. How dare he beat his chest and crow when, in truth, he was so defeated, so dependent. What about her! She turned to her only outlet and wrote with all the violence that the stubby blue bookie’s pen could muster,
“Where do those special moments go? Why do they allow themselves to be thrown aside by the memory of my dad crying? One I will never forget. Sat at the dining table, in blue away-kit shorts, head in hands, as if unaware of me, but I know he knows I’m here. I come here every night.”
She looked to the ceiling, then to the books stacked on her desk. Books about amazing places and incredible things! She took a breath and continued,
“I want to see the biggest collection of tiny versions of the world’s biggest things, the carpet in our front room and a tag that says made to measure, not reduced to clear. I want to see things from up high, like, proper high, so I can see it all. A vast space, tidy, everything in its place.”
She was gripped by a convulsion of frustration that balled her body up: knee to chest and hand to fist. The ball got tighter and if she hadn’t already bitten her nails down to nubs they would be cutting deep into her palms. She rocked herself aggressively. For minutes she maintained her bubble until the sound of busy rummaging reached her. Tosh was reassembling his piles. He was talking himself through that order that only he understood. She knew him and she forgave him.
“And now when I look at him there's wisdom there or maybe it’s just the pain that's settled in. At least his smile that once was bare now wears its skin. Oh, I want to see my Dad use a bin to put rubbish in.”

Slowly
It was their first visit in a long time and her mother was speaking in riddles again. “Shiny sun can’t shine enough.”
She looked at the girl and gestured towards Tosh. Evidently, he was the sun. “Luminous world says...”
She must be the luminous world, so she spoke,
“Give it up old man. You’re done.”
Tosh looked to the woman for confirmation that it was now his turn. She nodded, “Shiny sun, weakly...”
“You need me girl. I’m doing my best to hold on.”
The girl shrugged, suddenly feeling the strangeness of the situation. The living room was tidy, relatively speaking. Tosh had cleared the space especially for this encounter, apparently. It was usually buried under piles of papers. She couldn’t see where they had gone. He had done it properly. The room looked good. Her mother had not been around much recently. Hardly at all in fact. But here she was. Was she coming home? The girl spoke without prompting this time,
“Though his heat is fierce,”
Her mother nodded and waited, expectantly,
“he’s far off and long ago.”
Tosh tensed. The girl went on, gathering confidence:
“No heat from the sun. Something’s gone wrong. I’m cold here on my own. I miss your heat.”
It felt good to say these things out loud. Writing had always been her way, but this felt more real. But what if she had said the wrong thing. Why wasn’t anyone saying anything? Tosh was frozen in that blank stare. Her mother, still nodding and smiling like a fool on a loop, waiting for her to go on. Was she supposed to fix this? No! She raked her hair forwards and over her eyes, creating a great auburn curtain for her to hide behind and pulled her knees into her chest and rocked, mouthing the statements over and over, checking them for errors. The woman looked to Tosh and frowned her concern. They felt in that moment, the bond of parents. Two people bound together by their love for this person that they had made. But Tosh reminded himself that they weren’t a team. The woman wasn’t qualified to be opening these wounds. She would have to leave soon, and they would be worse off than ever. He felt dizzy, light, as if thinner than air, floating away. It shamed him that he needed her more than she needed him. But she did need him, a little bit, she had said so hadn’t she? He knew that he could be there for her once he got his papers in order. But there wasn’t enough time in the day. The woman had told him that he was drowning but she was wrong, he was a starving hearth. He wanted to say all this but what he said instead was,
“One day I’ll burn out and you’ll be cold and alone.”
He gasped as if trying to suck the words back into his mouth, but it was too late. He knelt in front of the girl and placed his hands over hers. He knew he had to do better. He had to explain.

To the girl
“You learn by day and forget by night but little by little something sticks.”
She did not move or react in any way. He was failing again. This was not the way to get through to her. How could he explain? It was all for her.
“First a pattern then a word then an idea.”
He remembered a camping trip and a discovery that saved them from a rough night, as she
whispered:
“Shoes burn, “Everyone looks weird if you stand too close." and dogs do dream. "Everything sounds weird if you say it too often.” The sun on your skin...”
The pairing of vivid memories and soothing chant softened her. She giggled and let her legs go and instead grabbed her father and pulled him to her as they shared the memory of their little terrier sleepily jittering. He stroked her sun-kissed hand, she loved the sun on her skin. As a small child she would try to put sunlight in her pockets to save for night-time. The woman quietly let herself out. Shaking with sobs but knowing that she was getting better. Tosh heard the door and sighed.
“Why did I say yes? Why did I say yes? Why did we give you your mother’s name?”
Tosh held the girl for as long as he could but soon, he could feel her stiffening. He must try harder to explain. He pulled back to meet her eye.

So, basically
“French thinkers might ask me, what if all men hoarded as I hoard. I would tell them that they do. All men, man!”
He was stood over her now, that look in his eye. He desperately needed her to understand what he was trying to do. She looked up and nodded occasionally. She had learned these “active listening” skills on the internet. Tosh saw her feigned engagement and was encouraged. He would try not to soapbox, but he had to make this one point.
“And so, man needs 1.7 earths to live in. Just as I need 1.7 flats. And still it’s not enough.”
Tosh pointed at the door,
“They’re out there now, paying for the bends but I love a straight banana, the yellow sticker. An apple with a plum arse. Hand-picked they proudly say, omitting that they throw the rest away. Never mind that there, I was making a point about something else.”
He turned to the world outside,
“Waste on top of waste on top of waste. I see you, from your seductive strippings through your public pissings to your toenail clippings. You threw away a piece before starting. No entry you prick.”
He had marched to the door and applied the lock.
“That was not a finished thought.”
He poked at a photo of Grimey and him, thin and mischievous.
“There were no mobiles back then. We relied on word of mouth. Simpler times but some might say for the better, although it seems mad to think now that if you got the place or time wrong you just had to turn around and go home. Try again another time. When the body starts to fail. When the bladder can’t be relied upon. Where do you go for reassurance? CBT? DBT? My wife’s gone blah, blah!”
He caught himself as it slipped out,
“Never mind that there. I was making a point about something else...”
But he needn’t have worried, the sofa was empty. He wasn’t sure when the girl had left the room, but he knew that he had let her down again. There was nothing left to do but finish the thought. If he could just finish this thought. A broken tap dripped in the background. If he could just finish this thought.