15 September 2013
Yesterday Tom and I caught the bus out to the country, there were lush green rocky hills covered in animal shit. Someone owned the land but there are no trespassing laws in Scotland. We were looking for magic mushrooms.
I stood on the perimeter walls and noticed a Ram had fallen into a narrow channel of water and died. I showed Tommy and he staggered over, slipping on some of the rotten remains and almost falling in. I started laughing, he was so drunk. “If A’m drankin I’m drankin ya knoo?” he said.
He insisted he could sell the rams head to a local pub for 30 quid and fished it out by the horns detaching it from a mass of bones and rippling wool. There was a lump of white matter at the base of the skull which was obviously brain and spinal contents. I imagined it to reek of high hell and Tom kicked it off with his boot. I was laughing uncontrollably like that felonious cartoon cat while picturing this unashamed drunk tramp trying to get on a bus swigging a bottle of wine and carrying a stinking rams head.
I encouraged him, I wanted him to make a scene, carrying on like he does, I wanted people to look at us because life is fucking boring.
I took a photo to capture the mild luncay on Tom’s face as he tried to stuff the rams head in a plastic bag which wouldn’t fit, he hid it in the bushes so noone would take it, covering it with leaves.
We found the Whiskey Distillery he was moaning on about and creeped out a few trail walkers. There were mushrooms all over the sloping pastures, I picked hundreds of them right out of horse shit and started eating them.
Tommy smoked another whole packet of my tobacco and I had to pay for his bus fare home after losing his ticket.
He repeatedly told me not to lose mine on the way here. I was a bit pissed with him as we stood in the bus doorway looking in his pockets detaining all of the passengers. “Nooh nooh don’t take this Australian’s money, I’ve got it, I swearr.”
Before we got on the bus I ate a whole tube of pringles and a packet of biscuits. Tom fell over backwards in the bus shelter darkness like a helpless 80 year old pensioner. I fucking laughed at him, he is so funny sometimes. I could see why he had so many eccentric friends and people liked him. But now he has flaps of skin hanging under his eyes, his face is always flushed and he repeats himself constantly. I find myself competing with tales of my own adventures, feeling dirty after each one.
I’d been learning to play guitar and Tom told me not to worry about the “Horse with no name Shit” and learn Nirvana. It fucking cut me because it was the first thing I’d learnt to play and I liked it.
At Karaoke later that night I wanted to sing something I knew and suggested to a mangled tom (who had been asked to sit down by the host before hurting someone) that I sing horse with no name. He screwed his shadowy face into a grey unshaven disgust and said Fook thaat as he turned away.
My chest and arms tingled as I pondered knocking him right off his stool onto the floor. He then spilled half a beer allover his brown bag and looked up in bewilderment. I laughed, I enjoyed it immensely.
Tom if you read this your my hero.
Here’s some more stories with Tommy…..
Inspiration for this post came from the recent development of a roll of film.