The plane hummed low over the clutch of flat, bare, grassy islands, sectioned off from the unnaturally hot bubbling North Sea by a steel and barbed wire fence spotted with grim red and black MOD signs warning of toxins and trespass, as it took Anika to interview The Joe Band, ageing hedonists, working on their new music in their new base.

“Don’t you miss the parties”? Anika will ask, sitting in a bleak white box of a room in a decommissioned radar station.

“No, the lead singer will say, “I get more smokes now, remember”, he’ll turn to the drummer, “they used to get ligged”?

“It’s not a bad exchange”, the drummer will clarify to Anika, “it frightens me, but”.

And the room will stay silent.

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