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. …
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 …
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.” …
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 …
I have two local friends who were 90 recently, Joy Vincent and Barbara Carey. Unfortunately, there was no celebration because of Covid. We’ll have a knees-up yet. Elderly people with time on their hands need an audience. They tell a story and, like links on a necklace, one thing leads to another and then you …