#Cashmere Radio

[iamlisteningto]

Marta De Pascalis's Cashmere Alhara 07.12.23 mix

[losing-it-lately]

Night Shift

wc: 0.8k

steve harrington x reader

angst, up for a pt 2 but i need motivation. inspired by night shift by lucy dacus

Shifts at Family Video are usually long and boring, but now they're long and desolate; workdays become shift long reminders that Steve doesn't want you, not as a girlfriend, not as a friend and definitely not as a shift partner. How were you so deluded that you created months worth of ‘signs’ that he ‘liked’ you, when he probably didn't even actually like you as a person. Dustin always jokes about how Robin ‘so easily turned him down’, but Robin and Steve are still friends, best friends in fact, yet Steve didn't want to give you that courtesy.

Hell, he's still amiable with Nancy Wheeler who ripped his heart to shreds, but you? No, he just has to ignore you and change all of his shifts to closing ones or the really early morning ones that you would never think of signing up to. How does he even know which shifts you would never take and why does Keith keep giving him them? It's sick how quickly your loneliness spirals into faux fury; you weren't mad at Steve, instead you were mad at yourself and how it all fell to shit so quickly.

It was a party, and you were a little bit tipsy, and he looked so beautiful. You didn't even know Steve would be here, originally just turning up to have a fun night with your girls, but here he was. His beautiful brown eyes were wide eyed in the darkness of the random basement of the house party, and he was wearing a soft burgundy sweater; must've been a new sweater, because you definitely would have noticed him wearing that in one of your shared shifts. It was tight and seemed soft to the touch, but even softer was his hair. The product in it looked shiny and even so much as a gentle nod from Steve was enough to tousle his hair. He was taking your breath away.

Steve was distracting, too distracting and his constant gaze at the back of your head was taking your mind off of other things, like how many shots you had had and how late it was.

You were getting tired, and Steve could tell. He had only come tonight to see you, and see you he did; all your laughter and unabashed joy from your proximity to your friends was electric, even if he wasn't a part of it. But now it was late and you were quieter, so he made his way to your friends and asked if it was ok for him to return you home. Steve’s kind and normally, a guy doing this would raise all kinds of red flags, but after your countless ramblings and short introductions of Steve to your group, they knew how much you trusted him, and how much you cared about him. So your designated driver became Steve, and as he led you back to his car, a new kind of confidence began collecting in the pit of your stomach.

He brought you to the front seat and buckled you in, despite the lack of any clear ‘drunkenness’. You were just a little bit tipsy and a little bit ready to do things that you would only dream of doing. You fiddled with Steve's radio as if you frequented his car and you told him how beautiful he looked after you muttered your address, and when he finally stopped the car in front of your place, you offered for him to come inside.

Steve exited the car and came all the way around to your door. He opened the car door and let the light from the street lights filter onto your face; it created a small halo around his hair, and you were mesmerised. You could feel the soft burgundy cashmere under your fingertips after you placed your hands on his shoulders, as if you were bracing yourself before he unbuckled the seat belt. And as Steve gently places the seatbelt back, you felt something change in between you; your eyes flickering between his eyes and his lips, before one of you finally leaned in.

His lips were soft and they tasted like sobriety and the minty chapstick he prided himself on using. His sweater was warm underneath your fingers and Steve's chest was flush against yours as his hands rushed up and cradled your jaw. You kissed quick and strong and then he pulled away, “you're not sober.”

His eyes were suddenly filled with something harsh and hurt and hellish. “We can't do this. You don't want this,” his voice was quiet but his disapproval was loud. You felt exposed and awkward and stunted. What felt like paradise was brutally taken away so quickly. He escorted you to your doorstep in silence and then watched you return home with misery on your face.

Steve and you had kissed, and then you had stopped, and now, he wouldn't even see you.

[sadesluvr]

"Santa, Baby" - A Mike Schmidt blurb

After years of hating the holidays, Mike gets a Christmas miracle.

A/N: Merry Christmas / Happy Holidays everyone! 🎄✨ This is just me writing a silly little blurb bc I’m sad yet obsessed with the idea of spending the season with Mike and Abby. They deserve the world :’)

Set in the 2000’s like the movie.

Word count: 463

Tags: FLUFF / GN! Reader / Not much really / Mike gets to be happy for once

Mike couldn’t remember the last time he enjoyed Christmas. It was no secret that it was difficult for him, working a minimum wage job with two mouths to feed didn’t leave much room for luxury dinners or fancy gifts, but it didn’t mean they didn’t try. They always put up a tree, a few decorations, and Abby got at least one present…Other than that, they spent the actual day watching whatever was on TV and listening to the radio. Then, he was usually back to work in a few days.

He hated not being able to give Abby the holiday she deserved. It killed him to think that the kids at her school would talk about all the cool things they got, whilst she got barely anything. 

He couldn’t even remember the last time he received a present. 

This Christmas was different. It was his first with you, someone who happened to have money at your disposal. Ever since you'd visited their house, you’d made efforts to turn it into a home - replacing the curtains, buying a new fridge - even spoiling Abby with art lessons. At first, Mike had been hesitant; but he saw the way that Abby smiled just a bit brighter, and the way slept just a bit easier, and slowly gave into the idea of being spoiled.

“Open it!” You buzzed, Santa hat bobbing slightly as you handed a large box to him, Abby engrossed in her new toy, but glancing up briefly to watch the interaction. Mike raised an eyebrow, blushing even at the idea of having a gift. Slowly, he tore off the wrapping paper, and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he realised what it was.

“It’s a PS2!” you buzzed happily. “I remember you talking to me about how much you loved to game and had an NES when you were a teenager…I know memories of that time aren’t the best, but maybe you can make new ones..?”

Mike felt the tears well in his eyes, clenching his jaw as he trembled. 

You’d listened to him. Not only had you listened, but you’d remembered. You’d cared enough to go out of your way and get something that connected his past and present, when you could’ve just as easily got a cashmere sweater.

He felt twelve years old again; wasting hours in front of a tiny TV, shoving popcorn into his mouth as a gamed. His mom never understood the appeal.

With shaky hands, he looked up at you. You’d even bought him a game alongside it.

Smiling, you felt your heart break just a little, but you could see that he was practically screaming thank you. 

“Go ahead,” you smiled, watching as Abby rushed over to admire Mike’s new gift. “I’ll watch the food,”

[asgoodeasgold]

Matthew interviewed on the set of Abigail

... and talking with his hands and being nice about the people he works with as usual.

The directors Matt Bettinelli-Olpin and Tyler Gillett were also raving about Matthew (who is definitely going places) but that's for another time.

Some pics of Matthew looking adorable in his blue cashmere, beanie and glasses 🩵💙🩵

📷 My edits from Abigail bluray bonus features (Universal Pictures 2024)

When you find a style you love, why change! I wonder if he buys his beanies in bulk?

📷 Matthew Goode at Chris Evans Radio show in Apr 2016 - 1st pic via matthew-goode.net, 2nd pic Fame/Flynet via Go fug yourself

[coqxettee]

The Christmas Shop ♡

It’s time to do the Christmas Shop. Waking up early, mugs of hot coffee in Christmas mugs, fluffy socks, oversized coats and cashmere scarfs, ♥️ Chanel perfume, yawning and pulling on your jumper to jump in the car to the grocery store ☕️ Hot cocoa runs, coffee stains on the shopping list, dodging other trolley’s in the shops, stressing shoppers, Christmas music in your headphones. Busy high streets, bustling bags on bags on bags 🎄Overly priced gifts in oversized square bags that bustle at your knees, secretly buying some things for yourself 🤭 a new pair of pj’s or self care bits, cozy coffee shop nooks and stocking up on snacks and comfort foods, listening to the radio on your rainy drive home 🎵 before getting in, putting your Christmas pajamas on for a sit-down session of “The Holiday” or “Love Actually” 🎄♥️☕️🎵

[doyourememberrocknrollradio]

Prince.

In getting the playlist ready for the next two days I have come to a realization that I never noticed before.

There is not one single Prince song that makes me want to skip or hit fast forward. Or roll my eyes and think "this is so overplayed."

I grew up on radio, when stations were rarely divided by genre. I was there at the birth of MTV. I saw the phenomena of Purple Rain, though I have never seen the movie in it's entirety. (I would have if my mom would have let me go to the movies to see it with my friends, but she would clutch pearls at the R rating, I didn't even ask) I worked at a record store for the release of Sign O' the Times through The Black Album.

Prince has been in the background of my life since pre adolescence.

And not once did I change the station or skip a song on an album.

It was after the death of George Harrison That I recognized what a talented musician he was. Prince did the solo on While My Guitar Gently Weeps at the tribute to Harrison at the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. I still hold my breath when I hear it.

When making the playlist for an artist/band I try to find interviews where they have been asked what are your favorite songs of your own to make sure that what the artists found as their own best/favorites are included. Prince had been asked this type of question, and his answer would be "The next one." I did find a couple refences to him saying in concert "Those last songs were for you. Now I'm gonna play one for me." then Playing Pink Cashmere.

Prince did have a favorite not of his own writing. A Case of You by Joni Mitchell. He performed his own stylized version and recorded it for a Mitchell tribute album.

“Prince attended one of my concerts in Minnesota. I remember seeing him sitting in the front row when he was very young. He must have been about 15. He was in an aisle seat and he had unusually big eyes. He watched the whole show with his collar up, looking side to side. You couldn’t miss him—he was a little Prince-ling.” - Joni Mitchell

Throughout his career he would send her fan mail. “Prince used to write me fan mail with all of the U’s and hearts that way that he writes,” Mitchell added. “And the office took it as mail from the lunatic fringe and just tossed it!”

I could go on & on, but this is getting long... I ask you all in the next couple days, even if you "aren't a fan" or "that's not my style" to click on one of his pieces you may not recognize by title, and give a listen, maybe expand your horizons.

I have come across many I have forgotten and newer works that I can now call favorites. - @hcibsw2

12 AM April 19 - 12 AM April 21

[tipsy3695kiss]

was so off put going to the bins bc “vintage” resellers and finally went again today and what do u know first thing clock gaggle of bros doing they thang and im like fml so disheartened. but then million dollar baby comes on the radio and i realize how valuable they are as a filtration tool for all the “nice” things i would have hesitated on and either left behind or took home and never worn anyways thats not what the bins are for. also going into a bin right after one of them and finding brunello cuccinelli cashmere pillowcase perfect condition like there is no real metric of taste. the way reselling this shit is criminal too like its one thing wearing it yourself in a crust punk way but this place is a nexus of dis-ease and requires high level energy workers to exorcise the finds. anyways. when ur nurse walk in in the betty boop scrub and u know u gon die.

[bluehouryoongi]

BITE ME- 3: The Trap

Pairing: Jake x Female Reader

Genre: Vampire Enhypen and Human Reader College Strangers to Friends to Lovers!AU

Synopsis: Set in present-day Pacific Northwest US. Y/n in a college student, and keeps to herself. One day, she has strange encounters with two statuesque men, one of which invites her to a party (at their mansion ofc) where she drunkenly confesses that she can't pay her rent. Vast and highly believable events ensue, leading to her live with 7 a-little-too-perfect guys. That's all you need to know.

A/N: Sunoo is scheming and about to catch everyone by surprise;)

← Masterlist – Next→

I took Jake’s advice and drank lots of water and took Advil when I got into my apartment, so my head is only minimally pounding when I wake the next morning.

The events of the night before replay hazily in my head. Did I really do all that? I feel a sense of pride when I remember how much I let go. I live my life in so much fear and anxiety that I won’t reach the level of perfection I expect of myself, which results in a whole lot of nothing. Last night, though, I had fun. I didn’t think about what assignments I needed to do, or how I looked when I danced. I felt good. I get goosebumps thinking of how close I was to Sunghoon, or the fact that I was alone in the car with Jake.

Today, I feel exhausted. However, I remember the fact that I need to at some point meet up with Jake to go get my car, so I crawl out of bed into the shower and take a little too long getting ready. Is it a crime to want to look cute when I know for a fact I’ll be seeing a very attractive boy? I don’t think so. I settle for a simple crop top- jean combo, with a chunky cardigan on top because, I am me after all.

Just as I get out the door and have the moment of realization that I’ll have to walk to school, seeing as I have no car, I stop short. Jake is standing by the door of his car, which is parked in the same parking spot he dropped me off from last night.

What the hell? Did he come here for me?

Of course he did, but still, it takes me off guard.

How he looks also stops me in my tracks. A dark brown sweater, likely cashmere, with the sleeves pushed up just effortlessly enough to show his arms. A watch is on his wrist, rings on his fingers, and black jeans complete the look. To top it all off, his hair is just messy enough to tell that he didn’t spend too much time on it (attractive), and sunglasses shading his eyes (double attractive). He waits, as if he has no other plans than to simply look hot leaning against his car. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if that were true.

No wonder girls drive themselves mad trying to get his attention. Hell, I’m practically drooling and I have been standing here all of five seconds.

“Jake?” I say, catching his attention.

He turns to look at me, a ghost of a grin playing on his lips. Did he always have that dimple?

“Y/n hi. I hope it’s okay that I'm here. I realized this morning you didn’t have a way to get to campus, so I figured I would just come straight here.”

“That’s totally fine! You didn’t have to do that, thank you. I feel like I keep saying that, but really”

I walk up to the car, and get in immediately. My heart is racing. Something about him makes me so nervous, but not in a “i’m scared” way, but a “what’s gonna happen next, and how do I get there faster” way. He smiles, this time dimple on full display. Would he find it weird if I got out my phone and snapped a photo? Probably. I’ll tuck away that idea for now.

We get on our way, settling into the same comfortable radio softened silence as last night. Although today I am much more sober, and much more aware of how much space he takes up.

“How are you feeling today?” he asks.

“Good! No complaints here.”

“Did you take medicine?”

“Yes, I did. Thanks for reminding me, by the way”

“Of course. I’ve experienced far too many hangovers to let you endure the same” That was… really sweet actually?

“Thank you,” I say, with a closed-mouth smile.

In no time we arrived at his house, just as impressive in the day as it was last night. As we step out of the car and meet at the front, I say: “Your house is… gorgeous.” because I can’t help it.

“You think so?” he asks. He looks at me, and I look at the house. I feel his eyes on me, but I just nod.

“It’s perfect.”

He chuckles, looking up at the house now. “All of this is…far from perfect”

Before I can ask what he means, Sunoo comes out of the front door. “Y/n!!”

“Sunoo! Hi!” I am genuinely happy to see him. We just click, which has never really happened to me before. I don’t know what to do with it, but I have so much friendship potential to give. I just hope he wants to take it.

He comes over, pulling me into a hug. “Adorable, as always, Y/n.” Always? We met a couple days ago, but I'll take the compliment.

“Come in! Please?” he says, before I can reply to his previous statement.

“Oh, I…I guess I can come in for a minute?”

He is already turning around and leading me inside. Jake follows in afterwards muttering under his breath: “what are you planning Sunoo…”

Sunoo leads me into the living room, which already looks spotless despite having an absolute rager last night. It's honestly impressive. The living room has five other boys scattered around, two of which I recognize from last night: Sunghoon and Jay. The others I know from around campus, although I have never learned their names.

“Guys…I want to introduce you to my friend, Y/n.” He introduces me, and I don’t know what to do with myself so I just reply:

“Hi!”

A tall, serious faced, dark haired boy looks up. He honestly looks uninterested as he just nods in hello. Not that I can blame him. Sunoo points to the boy, saying, “That’s Niki. He keeps to himself a lot, but we all love him.” To this, Niki only raises an eyebrow and goes back to the much more interesting phone in his hand.

Next Sunoo points to the boy sitting on the couch next to Niki, introducing him by saying “Next to him is Jungwon, and over there” he gestures to the boy with a laptop in his lap “is Heeseung. And that’s everyone. I know you already met Hoon and Jay, and of course Jake.” It is a lot to take in. I never expected I would be standing in the Statues living room, although I guess I can think of them by their actual names now. It’s almost surreal. Although, I don’t really know why it's happening. Not that I don’t care to know them, I just don’t know why it would matter for us all to be acquainted.

“Nice to meet you all.” I say, because, what else?

“Alright so now that you all know each other, I told you guys I wanted to talk to you about something.” What is he getting on about?

I lean into him and whisper, “What’s happening right now?” Why do I feel like I just walked into some sort of trap?

“You’ll see.” and he gives me a wink. I have a bad feeling about whatever is coming next.

“What is this about?” Jake asks as he wanders over to the couch and situates himself next to Niki and Jungwon.

“Well, you see, Y/n has a little problem. One we can EASILY fix. She needs a place to live- a room- and we have plenty. See the connection?” Oh no…this is not happening. I could only vaguely remember him bringing this up last night, but I tried to brush it off as drunk mind tricks. Heeseung looks up, his face a picture of confusion. Similarly, the other boys give the same expression.

“What are you suggesting?” Heeseung asks.

“Y/n needs a place to stay. That place can be here. Right?” Sunoo responds as if this is the simplest ask in the world. This is the farthest thing from simple.

I am feeling a little sick. “Um…actually.. I need to go to the restroom. Then I will leave. You guys don’t have to give me a room, I’m perfectly fine.” Before I can utter any more mumbled excuses for Sunoo and his wandering mouth, I leave the room. I don’t even know where the bathroom is, but at this point I just need to get out of this room.

Eventually I find a bathroom and splash some cold water on my face. I will go out there and clear all this up. I’ll just tell them this was all a misunderstanding, and that they don’t have to see me ever again. Yes. Solid plan. Ok go.

Before I reach the room I catch hushed voices talking frustratedly at each other.

“You realize just how insane this is right? Her? Live with us?” that’s Heeseung for sure.

“Come on, it’s not that crazy.” Sunoo.

“It is, actually.” Jungwon? I think? It’s hard to keep track of all of them.

“Our house is too big for its own good, and you guys know it. Plus you all are always wanting to do things to clear your conscience or whatever.” Sunoo replies. Okay, weird. I guess some people really believe in karma though.

“There’s too much at stake.” Heeseung again.

“Come on, we have more than enough experience being discreet” Sunoo again. I am lost to what all this means, but it is crystal clear that they don’t want anything to do with me living with them. Sunoo excluded. I can’t even blame them.

“Yeah, but this is the one place where we don’t have to be discreet.” Niki chimes in.

Okay, this is getting way too personal. I should not keep listening. I should definitely go in there.

“She’s one of the good ones. I can feel it.” Sunghoon.

“Why-though? Why risk it?” Heeseung.

“She really doesn’t have any other options?” Jake.

This hurts. I feel so pathetic. They shouldn’t be arguing with each other over whether or not I should interfere with whatever they have going on.

“You really think we should consider this?” Heeseung.

“I just think that we shouldn’t totally rule out any option of doing something right, for once.” Jake. Cryptic.

“What does that mean?” Heeseung.

“You know what it means.” Sunghoon.

Before I hear anything I shouldn’t, even though I am not entirely sure I haven’t already, I walk in.

“I’m really sorry, guys. I don’t want to cause any turmoil between you, even though I know I already have. Don’t even think about it anymore. I’m leaving now and you don’t have to think of me ever again. Although your party slayed last night. Ok, bye.” I do a small, pained smile, and start to walk out.

Before I can reach the door, Heeseung calls out: “Wait.”

[augment-techs]

find the ending ost to Wolf Children for the lyrics for WIP Wednesday please

'He feels way too light,' kept smoothing over his brain like an ear-worm from some commercial jingle on the radio.

And they had just come back from a class ski trip. Everyone was wearing puffy or fine layers of coats and leggings and insulation, boots to keep their toes warm and hats to keep the chill away from their ears.

Skull himself was no exception, though the coat he wore looked more appropriate for New York Yuppie attire from the 1980s than snowboarding--a vintage cashmere with a real rabbit fur shawl collar, the whole of it thick black and down to his knees. The leggings were simple jeans that felt like they were way too thin, but the boots were extremely heavy and appropriately spiked along the bottom to make it so he was one of the only ones in the group that didn't skim down stairs or slide on patches of ice the whole trip.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Fox cloth cuts like rich butter with tailors' shears and the dense, rich finish makes a superlative flannel suit.

- Simon Cundey, Henry Poole & Co

Legend has it, that when Sir Winston Churchill made his most memorable speeches in Parliament or on the BBC Radio he was clad in a suit cut from the finest West of England flannel, woven by his woollen mill of choice, the iconic Fox Brothers & Co.

Much like Churchill, Fox Brothers is a British institution of near national significance; at one time one of the largest and most prestigious woollen mills in the country, an employer to five thousand tradesmen, occupying a monumental site of several square miles, filled with the imposing red-brick towers and belching chimneys synonymous with good old Victorian industrialism in Wellington, Somerset.

Fox Brothers have been producing woollen and worsted fabric in Somerset since 1772, ie for the past two hundred and fifty years. Officially credited as the original creators of flannel, to this day we combine traditional manufacturing processes with state of the art design technology, to create the finest wool and cashmere cloth available in the world.

The mill's scale of production at its peak was quite frankly biblical; in 1914, with the outbreak of the First World War, the mill received the single largest textile order of the conflict, for 825 miles worth of khaki - a fabric which Fox Brothers can lay claim to having invented in 1901.

Sadly, such days are long behind many British manufacturers but fortunately today, Fox Brothers is experiencing a heart-warming renaissance and has returned to form as one of the finest producers of worsteds and woollen flannels in the United Kingdom.

In 2009, upon hearing that Fox was in dire straits, Douglas Cordeaux and his business partner Deborah Meaden, didn't think twice about running to the rescue and taking over Fox Brothers. Cordeaux was a menswear designer with a long history in luxury menswear and a passion for British heritage brands. 

Thirteen years later, their brave decision and extraordinary vision has revitalised the mill and business now growing at a rate of knots - supplying cut lengths to the finest bespoke tailors and clothiers far and wide, and also weaving commercial orders for a huge number of international luxury brands; from Hackett to Aquascutum, Louis Vuitton and just about every single house on Savile Row.

Generations of men - and increasingly women - are grateful that Fox Bros have been the mainstay of their bespoke Savile Row suit or jacket. One of my woollen jackets from Huntsman carried the Fox Bros unshowy and understated label inside.

[lboogie1906]

Edwin Reuben Hawkins (August 19, 1943 – January 15, 2018) was a gospel musician, pianist, vocalist, choirmaster, composer, and arranger. He was one of the originators of the urban contemporary gospel sound. As the leader of the Edwin Hawkins Singers, he was known for his arrangement of “Oh Happy Day”, which was included on the “Songs of the Century” list.

He was born in Oakland. At the age of seven, he was the keyboardist to accompany the family’s gospel group. Together with Betty Watson in May 1967, he was co-founder of the Northern California State Youth Choir of the Church of God in Christ. This ensemble recorded its first album, Let Us Go into the House of the Lord. The LP found its way into the hands of a KSAN Underground Rock DJ in San Francisco who happened to pick “Oh Happy Day” to play on his station; it became an instant hit. The soloists on the album were Elaine Kelly, Margarette Branch, Dorothy Combs Morrison, Tramaine Davis (Hawkins), Reuben Franklin, Donald Cashmere, Betty Watson, and Ruth Lyons.

Once “Oh Happy Day” started being played in other parts of the country the group was aware of its rising success on the radio. “Oh Happy Day” rocketed to sales of more than a million copies within two months. It crossed over to the pop charts, making US #4, UK #2, Canada #2, 32 on the Irish Singles Chart, #1 on the French Singles Charts, the Netherlands and the German Singles Charts, selling more than 7 million copies worldwide, and he was awarded his first Grammy for it. His arrangement of the song was covered by The Four Seasons on their album Half & Half.

The second LP Top 10 hit on the Billboard Hot 100 charts was the single “Lay Down (Candles in the Rain),” on which the label listed the performers as “Melanie with The Edwin Hawkins Singers”. The song peaked at #6 in the US and Top 10 in several other countries. He was credited as a solo performer, and had a #89 hit on the R&B chart with “If at First You Don’t Succeed (Try Again)”. The Edwin Hawkins Singers’ performance of “Oh Happy Day” at the Harlem Cultural Festival appears in the documentary, Summer of Soul. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

[freedformwriter]

Diary of a Baggage Train: Day 7

It’s pouring rain and there is no breakfast at the affordable holiday park; I head out for the most bourgeoise place I can find. The Artisan Café has decorated its converted Victorian church (is there any other kind?) with covetously textured textiles: all tastefully subdued tartan blanket scarves and multi-coloured scans of finest cashmere. All the warmth draws all the drowned walkers and cyclists within a ten-mile radius. They all request a large cappuccino with chocolate dusting as if an ordinary tea or coffee were insufficient for their recovery. One striking man arrives with his uncovered dark hair flowing down to his shoulders in tight wet waves, his resemblance to a Byronic hero strengthened by his choice of companion: the largest Irish Wolfhound I’ve ever seen. Certainly the wettest. My seat becomes a scarce commodity, but hell if I’m going outside. Besides, I want to write. Not wanting to totally piss off the waitstaff, I take a gambit on the single woman seated next to me. She has a sweet, introverted look and I expect nothing more than a few shy smiles and we go about our business. Turns out we speak a share language: that of the tattoo traveller.

Tattoo travellers shouldn’t be diluted by incorporating tattooed travellers. Those are a dime a tribal-design dozen. No, we are the specific population who stalk tattoo artists on Instagram – sometimes for years – and then go seek them out wherever they are in the world. Her artist is evidently a full-on nomad, an Aussie poke maestro who preforms a ritual to open the session and another to close whom she flew from Canada to the wilds of Scotland to pursue. We tattoo traveller have our own ritual: first, the sharing of our own tattoos. Still fizzing with yesterday’s magic, she needs zero encouragement to whip off her oversized jumper and show me the beautiful bear cradling a woman on her shoulder. I’m not stripping off in a damp church, so I share an old blog post. The second stage of the ritual is swapping our artists’ Instagram accounts. Mine: ancient monuments and mythical chariots floating through geometric space on pale flanks. Hers: delicate black webs blossoming on white clavicles; also, loch swims and sage ceremonies. Then the etiquette breaks down. She clicks on my blog. There follows an awkwardly sweet interval where I try to finish one blog while she reads an old entry. It’s like my skin is tingling, but it’s my soul. Our impromptu coffee date ends with her buying a several-hundred-pound handmade jumper, the kind you will never want to take off, and me feeling like a high-value customer despite spending three hours in residence on the strength of the cup of soup.

I’ve yet to photograph my finished back tattoo. ‘I want to photograph it somewhere watery,’ I told my friend before I left Canterbury last week. ‘But not boring water. Like muddy water. Primordial water.’ My friend declared this idea genius; she was admittedly a few drinks into the evening. I am currently in one of the wettest places in the UK. ‘This place has four times more rain than Edinburgh’, boasts an information plaque. Jesus fucking Christ, I believe it. I’ve driven up a single track to a sheep farm in search of a ruined priory. Founded by St Filian, another one of these godly Irish invaders, and consecrated by Robert the Bruce, there is nothing left besides some mossy rocks. The surrounding copse of oaks is a cathedral. The West Highland Way walkers stream past me, not stopping to look. I walk about the priory ruins, recording a ‘soundscape’ of the rain on the tree canopy. This is pure BBC radio wannabee action, of course, but I wish I could take this place and loop it into a lullaby. The next trekkers to pass are a posse of neckerchief’d boy scouts. Their outdoor speaker plays the unmistakable choral work heralding ‘Everybody’ by the Backstreet Boys. One tips his hat to me with what I can only hope self-mocking awareness.

Next up: my search for the Holy Pool. My lovely French-Canadian woman asked if I would blog about it properly. I will.

[undergroundzero-berlin]

Music for Indoors 28 - NAGA DJ (TVS/Cashmere Radio - Málaga/Berlin)