Cabaret Voltaire: Something strange is going on in Sheffield tonight

INSIDE THE HOUSE, an hour to kill before going into town. Hungover. Sit on the sofa and watch TV with the sound off. A tape plays. Flick the channels irritably – the synchonicity doesn't work – until the TV comes to rest at a Disney dog show. Cut in, cut out. Fluctuating reception causes fading patterns in the electronic images. Time passes. No feelings. Blue religion, grey outside. The terrace opposite stops short in the grey air, thick with moisture, revealing vistas of factories, tower blocks, endless tightly patterned semis... Hills in the distance. Sometimes the factories work at night – the noise can be heard in the house, filtering through dreams: dull, percussive, hypnotic.