The bard celebrates two other fine practitioners of the art, and laments a lost brewer
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Tim Key - 807.
Well Versed is edited by JODY PORTER
This right-wing conspiracy theory is used to justify the coercive measures against gender, race and labour rights that best serve capitalism, attests GAVIN O’TOOLE
KENNY MONROSE recommends a new exhibition that highlights the significance of Black British music
ANGUS REID is bowled over by an exuberant film about the making of Keith Jarrett’s legendary concert
MARIA DUARTE, FIONA O’CONNOR and ANDY HEDGECOCK review Savage House, Enzo, Madfabulous, and Erupcja
CHRIS SEARLE recommends a work of love and deep admiration for a great musician
807.
Tim Key
“Scratch my back.”
“Twenty quid.”
I frowned like anything.
Twenty quid sounded so goddamn expensive.
That was what bugged me.
“Twenty quid” he said again.
I arched my back in the hope of catching my shoulder-blade against the coarse fibres of my Arran.
Anything to gain some relief without paying through the nose.
“Could you scratch it for any less than twenty quid, Malc?” I asked.
Malc smiled his toothy old grin.
I felt for my wallet in my handbag.
And I eyed Malc’s long nails.
And I gritted my teeth because it all itched so goddamn much.
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