“How old is Rocky,” a friend asked of my black Labrador. “Eight,” I replied. “I suppose you’ll be getting a pup to replace him soon.” I hadn’t been thinking anything of the sort. But it’s been swirling in my head since. Rocky’s a pet, much loved by my wife and our extended family. Great with […]
I wrote this column in the “Garden of Dreams” in Kathmandu, a glorious day during the Hindu festival of Dashain. I’d come from 5,614m (18,400 feet), after completing the Annapurna Circuit, keen to transpose so many stories from memory to paper. We trekked eight days to reach High Camp, then out at 4am into an
I was on a hike with three grandchildren when I asked them to stop. “I’m sorry,” I said, “you’ll have to speak up louder. I can’t hear you.” “Why not?” asked Luke. “I’ve only one hearing aid in my ear. The other one’s faulty and has gone back to the factory.” “What difference does one
Anaphora, Anaphora Read More »
Now and again I come across a cleric who has all the answers but doesn’t allow interaction. I want to put my hand up, say politely: “May I disagree?” But it’s not allowed. These people, usually men, seem to have a Whatsapp link to God because they always know what He thinks: “Jesus said X,
Communicating with God Read More »
I saved a life recently. I tell you this because CPR works. I often wondered about Heimlich who developed the Heimlich manoeuvre for choking. He used it once, in his care home, a year before he died. I bet he was thrilled. That’s how I felt about CPR, dozens of practices on dummies but never
There’s nothing more depressing in an English village than a pub closed for months. The edifice is sad, looms larger as months go by, competes with the grey church for emptiness. Locals recycle stories as if it’ll never open again. It’s the last vestige of community after the shop and post office go. I’ve been
Village Inn, Liddington Read More »
Simon Armitage wrote “An Unexpected Guest” for the Coronation. The concept is an ordinary person witnessing history: She’s treated herself to new shoes, a window seat on the fast train, a hotel for a night. She’s been to the capital twice before, once to see Tutankhamun when she was nine and once when it rained.
When novels are written in the first person, readers do not assume that the author is the narrator. It’s not like that with poetry. The default is the poet writing about the self, which requires honesty and bravery. The love poem is wonderful, the break-up poem can be cruel, ragged relationships are sensitive territory. There
I met a woman from Ghana, Ama, when volunteering. Ghanian names are based on the day of birth and there’s quite a fascinating ritual around it. I worked in Africa back in the days, so we dug around that, swapped stories, a fabulous chat. I encouraged her to visit Dublin someday. If she does, I
Where Do You Really Come From? Read More »
I was chair in a local Wine Group this past year and it was delightful. We’ve been going for ten years with twelve members maximum. An old friend told me years ago that we should have friends who are older and younger, and this group hits the spot. Each month one couple hosts the evening,
Wine is Bottled Poetry Read More »