MARK WYNN

I got some paint on my phone, and it appears that I can’t type for very long without it all deleting itself. Which might be an advantage.  This is a picture of a chap I met down the pool hall. He was in charge of his stroke and he kept on trying to play me for money. But I wasn’t having it, cos he was better than me. Everyone knew it. They wrote about him in the magazine they put through your door with all the trades people in it.  So I left there, and went to where I could get some peace.  I went to the water treatment plant and met this man there and his name was Marvin, or Martin, or he did not have a name because the light on his face was not in the right place. But his heart was - though I have yet to paint it.  Anyway, he said I could spend the afternoon in the canteen drinking cups of tea and watching the World Cup qualifiers on my phone if no one was looking, but I said I was alright ta, I had to be getting off to attend to a task for the mother. She had just...

​ There is a song and it was sang by a man who was dead, and then a man sang it who was not yet but he would be soon and he was wearing a cardigan when he sang it (I think) and there is a video of him doing it. (Applause.) Oh there is a song sang a man, and he was singing it wildly as I walked in the woods, watching the sky changing, and the light through the trees. I was wearing what I was wearing, and I was thinking what time it was and how I would look when I was dying in bed.  I do a lot of this because I see a lot of it and I have to remind myself that it is a section of the whole and not the whole of it.  So I get in my car afterwards, and I put on Julian Cope and I think about making things and look closely at pictures I like and try to make my own versions of the things I am looking at that I’m interested in.  This is of the woods that I walk in some mornings when I have time. We live in a bungalow that a man is renting to us, but he might not sell us it, so it mi...

​ Sometimes you had to wait around the train station all night, a packet of nuts in one hand, a menu for Yummy Ho Chinese takeaway, Stamford street, in the other. If only to get a little bit peace (sic). Some say peace is easy, if only you’ll fill in this this form, stand on one leg, get a bike with massive tyres, change tooth brush for this one instead. ‘But you might still get a puncture.’ Well, yes. I suppose you might.  ‘Then what?’ The man put the packet of nuts down on the station platform and leafed through the menu.   He was not a very detailed man, and his shoulder went up when he gestured obscenely at the lines man, when he did this.  He was smoking a tab at the back of my diary 2024. But he wasn’t doing this then, which is inconvenient, as I’m not talking about him then but on the train station platform now, which is not now exactly (I’m in the toilets at work? Better not be).  He was waiting for his train.  ‘They come like falling rain,’ a mechanical...

​ Now I am aware that when it comes to holidays you are of the persuasion by which you require much persuasion. But that is between you and the drier of your dishes if it is you which washes them. As it stands there are numerous destinations to destinate. But how and where to pick.  I have seen you outside Thomas Cook of a Saturday afternoon, a  tab dropping from your sophisticated jaw line like a falling down child.  Senior service is it? Capstan full strength. Well, bloody hell. Get em out old chap… thanks. There was a man speaking on the radio. He said ‘Tony Wilson was such a big figure in the North West’. You were turning your Volvo out of the car park.  I had work to do, but the connection was bad. Do you want to go to somewhere there isn’t anybody asking for your three points of ID every five minutes, and no more injections in the stomach? Follow me. (I put this A3 bit of mount board is daub some paint on in his hand) You need to be by the sea, sir. Or is it a ...

​ Wandering along the coastal paths, I stopped and seated myself upon a particular one. And from within my repose, I realised bodily, and boldly too, that I had forgotten precisely the position of our finances in relation to the overdraft limit and I was concerned about it.  ‘Oh shit,’ I said to a passing walker with his dog, ‘what will the mortgage people think about this? Will they consider me to be bad business? Am i in for a spanking or something like?’ The man looked at me. He was handsome in that pushing a shopping trolley across the car park kind of way.  ‘No,’ he said, and then he asked me what I was painting on that piece of mount board I had on the step ladder on the coastal path.  ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘this old thing. I am painting the hills in the distance and the choppy sea.’ The man looked to the hills in the distance, and the sea that did not look very choppy as far as he could see in the peaceful daylight, which was sone considerable distance, and then he looked ...