Three in one

Off to Bruges for a couple of weeks so finished some projects
1. New artwork
2. Latest song
https://soundcloud.com/type-slowly/dont-start
3. Latest adventures of The Y in Prague

Extra are voracious Mistle thrushes in our Rowan trees.

Chapter 8 Prague
The Y had never visited Czechoslovakia before so it was with great anxiety that they approached the border. Though their paperwork was more or less in order the border guards demeanour and attitude was a mystery. Through experience they knew the ones who would be officious (French), particular (German), friendly (Danish), require bribes (various nationalities but you could spot the type). Czech? they were about to find out. During the journey Mo had added a lot of detail to his exploits in East Berlin and explained that his contacts had strongly suggested that massive changes were imminent. It was the 9th of November and they were due in Prague to meet a band called Plastic People of the Universe. Mo had been in contact with them for a few years and had persuaded them to arrange a number of gigs for them in and around the city. It was understood that gigs as such were not permitted by the government especially those that in any way were perceived as a threat to the official culture but bands got around the restrictions by playing at “private” events such as weddings. It was amazing how many times relatives of the band got married, many several times a year.
The border was an undistinguished hut next to a large pitted concrete post holding a shabby red barrier. In front of them a Romany van was being directed to pull over. The dejected driver, and family huddled behind, looked resigned to the usual long wait and hassle they routinely received and were about to suffer again. The Y’s struggles crossing borders though not inconsiderable were nothing compared to theirs. Sadly their problems served to the Y’s advantage as his comrades occupied with the Romany left a solitary guard who after looking grimly and suspiciously at their passports waved them through.
Brooksie summed up the mood
“Thank fuck for that”
Little legs looked in the rear view mirror at the Romany family standing on the road, the guards milling around the van laughing, basking in their power.
Everyone was looking out the windows
“It’s just the same as everywhere else” opined Brooksie
“What were you expecting” said Jer
“I don’t know, bubbling tar pits or something”
Just then a thick fog came down and lights by the side of the road started flashing.
Jer consulted his guide book
“ As you approach the shattered town of Teplice, be aware that the surrounding area is prone to choking fogs due to burning of brown coal (Lignite) and belching fumes from the central spoke stack serving the glass industry”
A car passed by with the driver and passenger wearing what looked like WW2 gas masks. As they looked around they noticed all the tops of the trees were dead.
“Armageddon” said Jer
“Armageddon out....” tried Little Legs
“Don’t say it” screamed Jer stopping Little Legs mid dad joke.
The rest of the journey to Prague was mostly silent other than the occasional comment on items of interest observed out of the windows. The ubiquitous Kohlrabi stalls (nothing else except the odd wizened lettuce), strange abandoned building and roadwork projects, barely navigable potholes that gave Little Legs perpetual mini strokes, strange signs in a strange language, graffiti the same.
A few hours later and they were driving around the suburbs of Prague, the relative normality of a European city albeit Soviet a calming influence after feeling as Steve put it
“like a little spaceship driving round planet weird” 
The precisely given directions brought them to a residential area far from the famous city centre where they were met by Vratislav Brabinec, a very tall bearded and long haired man with piercing eyes and the typical skinny demeanour of the musician more interested in music, drugs and living than food and sleep. The front door of the property, very ordinary, very like all the others in the street did not reflect the interior which was much more like the typical squatted communities the band were used to. There was a large garden in which a range of very old sofas and chairs were arranged around a large central fire pit. The occupants, a relatively colourful mix of friendly but intense young men and women were all hunched around a TV set which sat outside on a long extension lead balanced precariously on an old wooden table.
Everyone was rapt observing images of jubilant East Germans pouring through empty checkpoints and great gaps in the Berlin wall. Interspersed were close ups of partying faces, lines of Trabants in slow procession, shots of people atop the walls hurling bricks and the empty streets near the East German side of the wall seemingly abandoned and bereft.
An entirely separate story, the occupation of the West German embassy in Prague by East Germans was simultaneously being reported on. 
The band joined everyone crowded around the TV, bottles of Stavropramen in hand watching history unfold. They didn’t understand a word but the images made it clear what was happening. Through the night between surprisingly restrained celebrations (an understandable caution) Vratislav gave the band a potted history of the band. He described their formation as a covers band in 1968 influenced by Captain Beefheart, Frank Zappa, The Velvet Underground and the Fugs to writing their own material in the early 70,s , the continuous harassments, bans, jailtime, deportations up to recent interactions with writers and artists like Vaclav Havel. He ended with the rather surprising and disappointing news that the band actually had split last year.
“but we still find you places to play and a version of the band continues, Pulnoc (midnight) they are called”
“we are subversive, counter cultural, you are part of the journey”
The band glowed, some not entirely understanding why but pleased nontheless  
Vratislav showed the band some clippings from a interview with Vaclav Havel, someone many people thought might be important in the countrys future governance.
 "Everyone understands that an attack on the Czech musical underground was an attack on the most elementary and important thing, something that bound everyone together... The freedom to play rock music was understood as a human freedom and thus as essentially the same as the freedom to engage in philosophical and political reflection, the freedom to write, to express and defend the social and political interests of society."
“He is a friend of mine, he will come to a concert I have arranged for you in few days time”
The band settled in, sleeping in various corners of the tardis like house. It was a restless sleep. A mixture of excitement, trepidation, confusion and fear made sleep shallow and interrupted  How was this going to be? This was going to be the strangest set of gigs ever.