Lindsay Johnstone

I’m typing this in Manchester Piccadilly waiting for my connecting train back to Glasgow from the Peak District where been hiking with my oldest pals, so there’s no usual post this week for the Membership, just a few choice snaps from beautiful Brontë country and some bits from this week’s album recording session with my band, wall sun sun. Back next week with actual thoughts and words!

The 4-channel television set, the likes of which a younger Millennial might just about recognise, sits on a bare concrete floor in a softly lit industrial space. The screen plays rolling images of youthful hands with long, pastel-toned acrylic nails. These hands are sometimes empty but most often they hold a silver locket. Sometimes, the hands are open-palmed, the locket presented as a child might show off a treasure. Sometimes, the locket is being fiddled with between forefinger and thumb.

I know what I'm really upset about and it's not the overflowing sink I know they don’t really need a souvenir from a work trip to the north east. I also know at least one of the girls is too old for the type of craft kit I’ve lifted and laid a few times now, yet I’m most probably the first customer of the day and the Canadian behind the counter has been warm and chatty so I pay £11.98 for two of them. It seems a fair exchange.