the late night life of trains (interior emigration)

“The fact that life has no meaning is a reason to live—moreover, the only one.” e.m.cioran

 so horsemouth went to see the owl service play in a fisherman's chapel in leigh-on-sea - and very good they were too, beginning with the first song from the wickerman and then gingerly picking through the rest of their back catalogue. for horsemouth it's the harmonies that make them - the combination of the women's voices - the use of a drone box is smart, the bass playing unobtrusive, the guitar playing supportive.

elsewhere there was a mismatch that ewan macoll would have divined between the singers speaking voices and their singing voices and song topics - the girl with the anne briggs voice (fran mortimer) spoke purest essex, the girl with the poshest accent (country parish music) sang a song of hiring fairs (at which the staff for big houses were hired). you are wolf were enjoyable, live multitracking a sort of kate bush sound. alison o'donnell of mellow candle and flibbertigibbet back in the day was clearly a hardened performer with a new album to promote. she was backed by firefay - good band, on the money, the guitarist's guitar died halfway through the set (until that point he'd sounded very portishead - a compliment in horsemouth's world) - their own set earlier had an indistinct mix which was a pity.

(horsemouth doesn't know enough to comment really so please don't take his characterisations as gospel). horsemouth and john dived back and forth between the two rooms but if your name's not here horsemouth didn't see you (well ok crafting for foes, steve ashley you were good).

leigh-on-sea itself (the old town) was a pretty-ish ramble beset by salt flats and estuarine mud (the water far away), boats plied their trade at canvey island opposite (those little white dots - caravans). it was a seaside town (as john noted) and so should fit in well with horsemouth's mumblings - being the kind of place horsemouth has said he wants to 'retire' to (and to which he has already in some ways made the interior emigration).

on the train on the way back two drunken care assistants from an old people's home had found a black woman from texas and were questioning her with true essex enthusiasm (houston she said, 'euston' replied one uncertainty), they blundered about well-meaningly, she handled them with glamorous aplomb, they got off at benfleet (connections to canvey island). their seat (not that they used it being too enthusiastic) was taken by a punk gentlemen (piercings, spiky collar) with four anxious basset hounds - soon the woman from houston was cooing to them. horsemouth pretended to sleep before saying goodbye to john and getting off at limehouse.