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Isabelle Eberhardt

Posted: August 7th, 2002, by Chris H

What I have been doing recently is getting knocked off my bike in various ways. This morning I had the classic ‘car-door-opened-in-face’ and I bounced and rolled into the road like a rubber ball with sore bones and a foul mouth. I have to loudly sing the praises of the man from Argyle Locksmiths (Argyle St, Glasgow) who got me a chair and water, retrieved my bike and made sure I got the details of the door-wielding maniac / actually quite contrite and decent lady. Any lock-related needs you have in Glasgow, that’s the place to go.

When waiting in the Western’s waiting room, if I had chosen things to have with me I would have been reading The Journals of Isabelle Eberhardt, who now tops my list of People I Would Invite Round To Dinner If They Weren’t Dead. Anarchist, Islamist, Sensualist, Journalist, Nomad-ist, Transvestite-ist, whatever. All that, or: Individual. And then drowned in a desert at age 27? That’ll be what they call liviing fast and dying young, but she did this 100 years ago. Beat that Kurt Cobain / Jimi Hendrix / Jim Morrison / all you boring rock icons with your conformist, unknowing self-destruction.

Chris H

Chris was hit by a brick as a child and lost the popular culture part of his brain. This affliction means he is only able to listen to obscure japanese noise bands and watch films with overtly complex storylines. His other interests include skulking, editing documents, taunting policemen and entering undecipherable handwriting contests. He lives in an enormous underground laboratory where he spends many hours trying to un-invent television.

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