My grubby Toilet window book for the past few Months has been a copy of John Peels Autobiography. As he never finsihed it, half is written by his wife with a lot of honesty, openess and Love.
As I near the final pages a sadness and a turning away from it is starting to occur. I dont want to go to that place of regrets. I to used to clutch a demo tape in the hope of giving it to the one man who might play it on air. The hope of a kid who knew of nothing except music and art.
Nothings changed except the world know is content flooded. He used to listen to demos day in day out. I wonder how he could of coped with Soundcloud?
Its not weird that I dread that part, iits like the tension in a movie your seen a hundred times. Allthough I’ve already been there it holds the loss. Whilst I read of his life he lives when I reach his end he is no more but a memory again and I read something else, about science, or maths, and his is no more. Maybe thats why its poiniant…..
- Frank Allen
Sorry for the typos im on mobile