HOT CROSS BORDERS
Hot Cross Borders is the title of the two-thousand-seven-hundred-and-ten words that Bill Drummond has used to document what he did on this past Good Friday on a border in Ireland.
What follows are the first two-hundred-and-seven of those words.
The rest of these words can be read at The Quietus web site.
Has a symbolic gesture ever achieved you anything?
I mean something proper?
Actually made a difference?
If I were to offer to do the washing up and then just washed the one plate and then claimed the washing of the one plate was symbolic of washing them all – I mean what the fuck?
You either do the washing up or you don’t. So don’t expect to be feted for just washing the one plate. However symbolic you claim it to be.
The trouble is my personal history seems to be littered with symbolic gestures claiming to be…
And that does not seem to be slowing down with age.
Anyway, right now I’m in the middle of the Irish Sea. And if the morning mist were to lift, I would be able to see the receding coast of Ireland in the West and the approaching coast of Scotland to the East. I am neither swimming nor drowning, or for that matter waving. I am on the early morning ferry from Larne to Stranraer. And I am trying to make sense. To myself, if not you.
I have been crossing this same piece of water since the day after my brother was born July 1957.
Yesterday was Good Friday.
Photographs by Tracey Moberly