Landfill

There are buried picknickers, in a sort of timelapse - the wind blows, and people talk. "It's just the ticket", "such a perfect spot", "it's got everything we could possibly want", "all to ourselves". Over it a refrain, "are we lucky? yes we're lucky". Perhaps we are not.

A place without place - there is no 'here', here, just a cliff-side, the sea below, the two, the hole - that singing, those statements - is it intimacy without knowledge? Is her voice catching? In this coastal closeup there is some startling framing, jumps hither, yon. At the end there is perhaps a clue, but perhaps is a multitude, a void.

Claudio Barton sings, the women are Leslie hill and Helen Paris. Andrew Kötting directs, camera by Rob Bernard and an entity credited as Anonymous Bosch. John Avery's sound is important - the wind, the singing. The clatter of subterranean teapot, in and out and a moment, a mystery.

Mindful, this resembles perhaps a non-existent Ivor Cutler poem - even to the vocal accompaniment - High-Tea On A High-Cliff. Looking down, sometimes, looking up, others, this is a puzzle - a woolly-hatted wandering wonderment.