It is the future. I am living in an old cottage, imaginatively titled “Old Cottage”. I live at number 4.
All around the cottage is a new development. As I go in, a delivery driver hands me a package for number 7, it contains developed films. I drop it off and head home. Inside number 4, I am sharing with a group of other old men.
They bicker about food. I escape to my room, I can play guitar here, undisturbed.
I am a teenager again. At school I try to explain my dreams. They all speak like the stupid people in the movie Idiocracy. I use language they understand, and they laugh and are happy, I try to explain with more precise and descriptive language, and they all think I’m a faggot. I have a text with me, something I have dreamed, that I need to communicate. They are too stupid to understand.
Outside, I walk through deep dark mud with punk friends from the past, and Hawkind play in the distance, on the grass.
Kenneth Kendal leads me on a long walk around mystical pilgrimage sites. There’s a Wyvern Gate, and a dilapidated monastery. I’m exhausted, but Kenneth wants to be out walking all day.
I lose Kenneth and chat with two young lads about how, when I was young, we had football pitches, and played outside. They can’t believe I did something so primitive, within living memory. I show them marks in the grass, where a football pitch once was.