You’re predominantly.. a people-watcher. A sponge for certain people’s stories. You at least convince yourself that you can see it in their eyes, in their tears. From the homeless Polish man on the city street whose rich, cruise-liner Captain son won’t offer him a penny to the pissed octogenarian happy out to take a leak in front of you on the street, theirs are still stories. Just, ahem… SWIMMING in depth of a rather obvious and layered kind. They don’t know it. Often you don’t even realise it, but that’s precisely where the characters come from. Two characters for the price of a listening ear and they suddenly land themselves SMACK/BANG in the middle of a poem-piece. Best time to go at it is still first thing in the morning for me. It’s like I didn’t even think … and suddenly it’s done. Then, I do think: “Okay, so it’s not over, the ideas and style aren’t gone put the window. You bloody weirdo.”