‘into… – Tales from the Hip pg/pt 4’

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… Wake, walk, work, walk doth thread the mid-week cycle of a bloke and his dog. And as the wood’s last clumps of snow huddle together in the shade like year-round patches on the dark side of a mountain, so does he while awaiting the spice that warms. Then my notes go onto something about a beekeeper covered in a gargantuan Christmas tangerine and rather than try to decipher any of that mumbo-jumbo, I thought it best to move along the bus, which is exactly what Jax did…

…The old charabanc was in no better nick than the blue circuit line he took to the Hills. Old school and rickety, it sported aluminium bars along the seat uprights, shined by holding hands. The seats, bum bare thin with ripped brown polyester covers. On the roof, luggage piled high packed mostly in large multicoloured nylon laundry bags, all roped down under a yellow tarpaulin shield. Cheap wheels. Mexican style. He’d left the hostel within the hour of Frederik’s note. Bought a ticket bottom dollar just shy of sunset and vroom, was on the road. The freedom bus. Way down south. Way down to Mexico way. For 36 hours he equipped himself with all his worldly possessions; a couple shirts, passport, two-man tent, cassettes he had no batteries for the Walkman and a distinct lack of reading material. He was the only gringo on board. He stared into the days demise and the strobing mirage of the traffic’s light and wondered what happened to pg. 2. On Interstate 105 out of Dodge accompanied by the constant hum of the road he drifted in and out of consciousness and care. Good surf – good wheat.

In the pitch night his head drooped, he thought of Fat Boy, if he was still alive and whether he made it back to Austin. He’d find out soon enough. He thought how the befuddled Immigration officer questioning their penurious trickery of staying afloat for 3 months was going to pan out in the good ol’ US of A, ‘we’re just here to see two good friends.’ ‘Sir’, demanded the uniform’s prompt. Jax quick sharp on cue, ‘Sir’, he obliges, ‘We don’t need a lot, £300 is plenty. We have an address and number you can call to vouch our accommodation and security. What we have here and now, is just good old spending lolly to throw about in your beautiful State… Sir’. Slow hours checking credentials came with free coffee, till Immigration begrudgingly deemed it fiscally viable these two young punks could stay the 3 months on their visa, mostly on account one of the girls’ fathers was some kind of big wig psycho judge at Austin jail.

With the jolt of a gear change Jax afforded himself a smile, ‘Sir’ he mimed half asleep. An old lady sat across the aisle smiled back. Opening his eyes, his grin lengthened then he fell back into road trip zombie land. Back to the girls they had met in Spain that previous summer and were now here in the good ol’ US of A visiting. Then he thought of the brand new sleek red Japanese Toyota side-swiping a jack-knifed old’s Mobile on that rainy night on a highway in Austin. The egg on her head Anna took from the windscreen, how she was transfixed by fear, unable to veer left or right. Kat fainting in the back. The hired car that ultimately cruised them across El Paso, Pheonix and those crazy red rocks of Arizona. Apache territory. Making it to LA, Kat’s country. Getting caught pants down in the toilets with Kat’s mate in a house party in Westwood. I’m currently wearing my pants back to front after getting dressed in the dark, and it’s just as uncomfortable. Anna flying back to Texas. Fat Boy off to get his head bent in New Orleans. And now, here he was in limbo sleep staring at dawn’s grey cut rock, laced with rich greens and trickling orange droplets. How he imagined tiny little cavemen living in those rocks cut from the side of the mountain. On the other side of the road splashes of the Pacific Ocean peered between bends. Impossible to deep sleep any further on the benches and bends he turned to smiley lady; she was gone. The bus stopped every 2 hours to pick and drop off people, produce and what always seemed a lot of chickens. He spoke every now and then with nods and smiles, endless repeats of Puerto Vallarta and its equally repeated amicable recognition, ‘si si, Buena, realmente, Puerto Vallarta, muy lejos,’ purported this time from a wrinkly old walnut of a lady whose feet clucked.

The last time Jax was in Mexico was Tijuana, tanned and brown as a bury, with a mop of black unkempt hair. He stood proud in his souvenir brown zig-zag woollen poncho, he was the man with no name. The police felt that way too and shuffled him to the local’s queue despite protests of being British. Three hours he stood in line with various shapes and sizes of whom any number, plus chickens could be on this bus right now. Reaching the ‘checkout’ he presented his big Blue British passport, outstretching upwards, to a very large black American Policeman sat on a very high chair behind what looked like a very large wooden lectern. ‘Are you for real?’ ‘Yeah, I thi…’, he tries to reply, ‘Get outta here and stop wasting my time.’ ‘But I was told to wait here, I’ve been in this queue for 3 hours.’ ‘Move you idiot. Now’ and as he thrusted the passport at Jax, his face began to melt, folds of thick dripping chocolate ice cream slumped in lumps, his chin sagged in drapes of soft molten rubber exposing underneath a harder and pale enigmatic shine, a magnetic smile perched under a pudgy white nose mouthed, ‘get outta here’. Jax startled, chickens clucked and Puerto Vallarta was but another day and night away.

… till page/pt 5 folks…

He sat at the screen and pondered…

 … enough clucking, let’s go to the World News

true dat

Supersonic speed is all very well, however, controlling the sound when breaking the M2 barrier has all engineers a thunder. Both NASA’s Lockheed X-59 and start up company Boom Supersonic’s XB-1’s mission is to reduce noise to that of a closing door and get passengers through the boom once more. Concorde flew over our school and made your teeth rattle.

NATO on the other hand have been quiet recently, but they’re making noise this week with their biggest military exercise since 1988. Steadfast Defender 2024 is to test the ability to defend the eastern flank with 90,000 personnel, 50 ships, 1,100 combat vehicles, 133 tanks and 533 infantry vehicles with the aim to rumble around reminding the Ruskys NATO’s still about and ready. All 31 members are in, plus Sweden who are set to join later this year. Their Waterloo maybe!

Keeping in the country prowess arena and a nudge to Russia and China, Blinken’s in Africa drumming up remembrance who the US are and how much loot and influence they have. He’ll be in Cape Verde, Cote d’Ivoire, Nigeria and Angola handing out dollar notes to anyone who will take them.

keep em stacked

Line is massive in Thailand. So huge you’d think they owned it. Every single man woman, women mostly women and child, but mostly women, ladyboys too, everyone operates on Line and are confused should anybody not. But I’ve just found out Line is not Thai but Japanese and they all have it too, well, 89.5% do. That’s compared to 50.6% on Instagram, 50.3 on X and a lowly 17.7 using Tik Tok. The app entices no les than 95m folk to message, video, chat, get news updates, cashless payments and has a zillion characters and animated stickers for brands to jump on advertising. Get a new app, get in Line.

Design TO is the largest design festival in Canada. Held in Toronto, which is the 4th largest city in North America. It showcases its wares in the most unlikely locations, such as shop windows, private residencies, cultured venues, neighbourhood spaces where exhibits can be openly discussed and installed. Artistic Director Deborah Wang says, ‘Design TO brings out what’s happening behind the scenes for everyone to see.’

Tha tha that’s all folks

Keep it turning keep it wheel, keep it radioPrimco.com

Till next weak folks – spelling correct.

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