‘Everyone else thinks it’s a dump; a horror show; an asylum. That just serves to keep out the curious. Behind closed doors at the back ends of estates, in crumbling mansions in Clarkson and modern flats on the main street, in solitary bedsits and grim flats above chip shops there are hidden some of the most eccentric characters ever to escape from a novel; some of the greatest book collections ever thrown in skips; some of the most overgrown gardens never weeded by a salt-of-the-earth type from the East End; some of the greatest musicians; the most heartbreaking chanters; the heaviest drinkers; the least responsible workers; the slackest teachers; the most committed intellectuals; the oddest astronomers; the most obsessive collectors; the most serious amateurs; and of course the greatest failures.’
from This Is Memorial Device by David Keenan
Absence Club 