Andrew

St Olave's Orpington, St Vincent's Mottingham, Mead Road Chislehurst

PhD student

recording, photography, cartooning, acting, reading, writing, comedy, tudor recreation, science, philosophy, mathematics

To Kill A Mockingbird, Billy Liar, Breakfast Of Champions, Fear Of Flying

Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind, Being John Malkovich, Lost In Translation, The Ice Storm

David Bowie, The Who, The Kinks, The Beatles, Radiohead, The Divine Comedy, Cream, Jefferson Airplane, Can, Neu, Joy Division

Futurama, Family Guy, The Old Grey Whistle Test, House

And she came to me listening and talking
And when she heard all I'd said
She forgave my past transgressions
And said "bless its pointed little head"
And we lay there quiet in the dark
And saw each other without walls
I thought it seemed too good to be true
So too bad it turned out to be false.

Her deep brown hair falls sheer around her shoulders. Her dark, liquid eyes are completely absorbed on a spot four feet in front of her as she frowns, delicately, in concentration, her perfect crimson cupid's bow mouth wringing a tender scream from the tenor saxophone she is playing. As the band behind her begin to lead into a key-change, she looks up. Our eyes meet over the copy of her novel I am hiding behind. It has made me laugh 587 times and cry twice. She winks, grins involuntarily, realizes the grin has spoiled her embouchure for the next note, and somehow incorporates her helpless laugh into a magnificent crescendo towards the climax of the middle-eight. On a table far over to my left, Courtney Pine leaps to his feet and throws her a bouquet, applauding madly. She catches it in the crook of her left knee, and finishes the song, Anderson-like, standing on one leg.