post-punk
Last weekend, I learned that putting on an exhibition is a lot of work. A lot of work. It’s also a huge amount of fun. The work comes first. More of it than you’d imagined there would be. Emails, meetings,…
Last weekend, I learned that putting on an exhibition is a lot of work. A lot of work. It’s also a huge amount of fun. The work comes first. More of it than you’d imagined there would be. Emails, meetings,…
This website has always been the place where I post about my poetry, my gigs, and my writing. But this blog is about something I’ve put together which is a little bit different…. It probably hasn’t escaped your notice that…
When my grandfather moved down from Scotland to the Midlands in the ’30s, he was one of the only GPs who would offer treatment to the gypsies and travellers who still passed through the area, camping on pit bonk or…
life with a politically astute collie-cross. “I had a strange dream last night,” says the dog, stretching and shaking himself. “Very strange. And yet…” “Go on, then,” I yawn. “What happened?” “I was working in a department store, in charge…
Every poet has quiet times. Or do they? I don’t know. I do, I’m sure of that. Times where life is so busy I can’t find time to collect my thoughts, or the news so depressing I can’t find the…
It’s great being a poet. But without the hard work of people who organise and put on poetry and spoken word nights, and who put in all the hours of graft to make sure they get bums on seats, we’ve…
As I take five minutes to scribble this blog down and piece something coherent together, it looks as though a piece of my work is going viral. For the second time. Last time round, it was the letter to Caffè…
(with apologies to Lewis Carroll) ‘Twas Brexit, and the slithy Gove did frottercrutch in dwarfish glee; he snicker-snacked the Camerove, Machiavelliadastardly. Beware the stabberjock, my son! The empty eyes, the robo-glint! who fellobrates the Murdocrone the Ruperturtle übergimp! He pallerised…
Love, and coats. The tables outside the station are packed with people eating and smoking and killing time while they wait for their trains, doing their best to enjoy the early spring sunshine despite the bitter, unseasonal wind. Being out…
There’s always a risk for poets in writing about current affairs. All too quickly, today’s burning issue becomes tomorrow’s chip paper, and all that hard work you put into knocking rhythm and rhyme together counts for nothing. And who wants…
There are always people out there who make a life and a career out of winding up liberals, portraying themselves as daring renegades who dare to stand up against the tyranny of political correctness. They say something callous about the…
Biker. It’s a beautiful day, and I’ve been riding the mountain bike up over hills and escarpments, along tracks and minor roads, climbing and falling, climbing and falling. By mid-afternoon I’m in a small seaside town, resting on a covered…