The album was inspired by his Grandmothers' house where he lived as a child, and contains 14 aural memories of the house and garden.
“... will you stop tearing up that newspaper? It’s making a mess down here”. I sat quietly
and watched the pieces float from the mezzanine, through the railings, down to the floor
below. I was reminded of late autumn, when dried seed helicopters from the trees were
abundant - their free-flowing nature always a reminder of our life cycles. It was an early
meditation; something to help focus the restless mind.
Silence broke eventually. “They all come from Leafield. They head from there with the
purpose of making our lives difficult!”. I wasn’t entirely convinced, but I let it go. I thought of
their colonies, their families, the way they moved and went about their business - it was a
fascinating other world, where everyone looked out for each other. Always a lucky escape
for them, through the hum of a summer evening.
“Doctor of Philosophy. That’s what it means, it’s an abbreviation”. I wondered, as I pulled
another thick rubber band around the arm of the sofa. The structures I made seemed to
serve no purpose at all; they didn’t need to.
“... I’m resting up for the weekend”. I always noticed that. The pencil sharpener, the cuckoo
clock, everything in its’ place. The way the dust fell in the late afternoon sun. I wouldn’t
On the way back up the hill, we passed the three monkeys. “Do you think you’ll go to
college?”. “I think so”, I answered, not really knowing why I’d chosen that reply. The words
flutter-echoed through the stone and brick, in the heat of the day; all the way past Mr
Mulberry’s, Mrs Viner’s, Mrs Mouser’s.
All The Way From Leafield
The Back Room
Walk In Store
End Of The Corridor