while on a research mission with max 'crow' reeves horsemouth found one of the olympic mascots living in a pedestrian subway in canning town. five years ago yesterday. horsemouth picks the tunes. howard puts them in order and posts the finished artefact up to mixcloud.
this morning horsemouth dreamed he was in the pub. it was run by the old boxer from the pub near the nags head. him and horsemouth were getting on much better. he didn't even seem bothered when horsemouth only had a fiver to buy his round.
like a lot of pubs when the boxer had retired it had become an 'and food' place. the other pub (50 yards down the road) had an early morning licence (because of the flower market) and so was always full of coked up idiots yelling shite at 6am (and after the smoking ban they would be out on the pavement too).
fortunately horsemouth can sleep through anything. further up hackney road another gastropub had taken over, horsemouth has to say the one it replaced had such a thoroughly unpleasant clientele he was not bothered (he was there the onetime with kate and nick - that was enough).
horsemouth thinks he's watched all the easily available episodes of the night-stalker. cops and monsters. recording everything on his handheld cassette recorder and little flash camera, kolchak the reporter deals with goddesses, witches, vampires, werewolves, and dissident hindu sects who became shape-shifting demons. there's an undercurrent of help the aged (as if the young have got better things to do than watch lame horror serials).
there wasn't much of this stuff around when horsemouth was a youth. you had to hunt it out.
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