I’ve dark feelings when winter clouds are grey and miserable over Swindon. Even the dog is laconic, still wants his walks, happy to jump in the stream but cringes when I unravel the hose. The garden paths are slippery, been on a list for weeks, but I’ve no energy to hose them while it’s raining. […]
A Kind Word and a Smile Read More »
The writer, Maeve Binchy, was renowned for her literary soirées. Her guests were allowed ten minutes to talk about their ailments and that was it, a motto I share – enough already about dodgy hips and knees. So, here’s my few minutes’ worth. I had an operation recently to remove my cataracts. It was cosmetic,
Seeing is Believing Read More »
Christmas last year was memorable for all the wrong reasons. We had our regular event, “Carols and Poems” in the Church Hall. For several years we’ve had fabulous singers from Bristol University, students year on year then gone. We’ve a formula that works. I recruit young poets to read Christmas poems – which is a
Wiping out a Village Read More »
Sometimes you meet a young person, and you know you’re in the presence of talent. My friend, Olivia Tuck, is such a person. She read her poems over a few years at Poetry Swindon, and I marvelled at her presence even though she was young and shy. Olivia holds an audience, with poems that are
“France?” said Terry. “I’ve never been outside Swindon in my life. No, tell a lie. I went to Wootton Bassett once.” He pondered, fiddled his fingers. “France? I get lost in West Swindon. Imagine getting lost in France.” I was on duty serving guests, guests with stories. It’s difficult to paint a picture in words:
When Breakfast might be the only meal of the Day Read More »
You’ll hear about Philip Larkin in the coming months. It’s his anniversary. Like most people, I loved his lines: They fuck you up, your mum and dad. They may not mean to, but they do. There was something wild about quoting that to teachers and parents and saying: “It’s a poem, you can’t blame me.”
Comfort amid sadness thanks to Larkin Read More »
Transferring skills to another is a special gift. It cannot be over-valued. I’ve done it myself – mentoring young poets, but also transferring skills such as using a chain saw, surviving in the wild, helping young entrepreneurs. We all have a lifetime of experiences to pass on. Over the past year my friend, Geoff Hale,
I love browsing the stories and photos in Archives. I’ve met some of the retired photographers and love their work. They are like ghosts behind the lenses. When I grew up in Dublin, we’d a permanent photographer on O’Connell Bridge. He was there from 9:30am to 6pm and then walked by the cinemas as they
Moments captured by ghost behind the lens Read More »
I got covid for a second time recently. Well, a slight exaggeration as I’d had it for only two hours. My wife and I helped a close friend the day before her wedding. We started a bit late so missed breakfast, worked through lunch and in late afternoon I headed home to walk the dog.
Poetry: On Covid false alarms and the thoughts of Terry Pratchett Read More »
I booked a hotel in Paddington Basin recently. I came out of Paddington Station and looked it up on Google maps. An hour later it took me back to Paddington. A Jamaican man saw me struggling and said: “You lost, Bro?” He said he lived in the area and would pass my hotel. It was
The shared joy of telling stories to one another Read More »