Gorse Hammocks and Bowie

Even when you can't see the sea, a change of light in the sky suggests it's proximity.  We walked down through the townlands towards that light; beech trees and gorse, the very occasional car.

Down in Warrenpoint we found a couple of rickety chairs outside a coffee shop and settled down.  A thin, scruffy man in his sixties asked if he could share the ashtray and squeezed onto the chair next to Mu.  

'where would your accent be from?' I cringed internally, as I always do when I open my mouth to talk in Northern Ireland, 
'England' 
'Obviously' he said 'but whereabouts?'  
'London' I replied, for simplicity's sake. 

His face broke into a smile of pleasant memory 'I spent the happiest days of my life there, squatting in old houses in the North, around West Hampstead, Wood Green, Ally Pally'. Here we were on common ground.

'I lived with a dwarf punk called Helen Wellington Lloyd,  look her up she was good craic'. I took note for later.
We chatted amiably for the time it took him to have his smoke.  

'Do you like Bowie?' he asked, stubbing out his cigarette.  I said I did and he told me he'd written and recorded a tribute song to him just after his death,  
'Look that up too' he said 'just google Neill, with two Ls, Gallagher'.
I did.  It's pretty good.  I've put the link here for posterity.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kkjrAafrkl0