When We Were Close to the Edge
Anne Hartley-Bull was my favourite cousin. People used to say we were very muchalike, a bit wild and a bit drunk.And they were right, we were party animals … both of us could cause a party in anempty house and people like George Best would come knocking on the door. So wouldBrendan Mullen, the English godfather of punk who died a bit ago in New York. Veryoften we’d take the party to Blighty’s or Slack Alice’s, two of Manchester’s trendiestclubs.Anne was small and fragile and a bit scared about things. But she dressed to kill andwas noisier than a rock band in a garage.She went round the world and finally landed in Australia. Me? I went round the bendand landed in the middle of nowhere. Things got better then …But I’d lost touch with my favourite cousin. Forty years had gone by without a word.Funnily enough one thing I’ve kept throughout all these years is a vinyl long player,
Close to the Edge
, it’s battered and unplayable now but it’s always had amassive place in my heart because Anne had turned up out-of-the-blue one rainy nightat my awful bedsit in Manchester to present it to me with love.