What remains – ghosts 1

I’ve built up a bow wave of subjectivity over the years about ghosts. I grew up in a very lapsed-methodist household, my mum’s background was very low-church, she liked singing hymns in the kitchen at Sunday tea time. My dad sometimes, but very rarely made me say...

Norwich Baedeker blitz: The Lockwoods

The Lockwood family lived on Rosebery Road in Norwich, number 65 a very ordinary little terrace in a row of terraces nestling in the sea of shoe factory workers houses between St Clements Hill and Angel Road, not far from Angel Road School. In the Picture above we...

The workhorse and the charger

I lived in North Walsham as a kid. RAF Coltishall was only about 6 miles away. We all grew up with the English Electric Lightning; the cold-war emblems, a sliver flash glossily belting past on high, occasionally breaking the sound barrier with that window-rattling,...

Sucking Eggs

  My mum is dead, she died over ten years ago at a 'ripe old age' after period of massive emotional instability and virtual madness bought on by a rather large stroke. It was a hinterland for her and us, her children. It lasted 18 months from the onset, the...

It’s beginning to and back again

We went to London. We do this journey quite often, from the East it is a fairly routine trip, a day out; one of those the ever shortening distances that only just hold us all apart. We have offspring who have set up shop there in the expense and dull glitter, the piss...

Approaching Nirvana

Heroes are strange beasts, as is memory. Nirvana never were particularly the former for me, but are very much part of the latter. Retrospectively 25 years on almost to the day it's still quite nice to know you were present at the stuttering birth of a new squalling...

Persistence of memory

Present views of combined pasts

All the cars I’ve ever known

All the cars I’ve ever known

I wrote this in the early summer after reading a piece about ‘The Great British Car Journey’ – a heritage centre which has opened in Ambergate in Derbyshire. Then I stuck it to one side because it's not like my usual stuff, then the other days I thought I'd tidy it up...

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Marking time

Marking time

It’s been a spectacularly bad fortnight. So here’s a story about some records and what they mean. Because music holds us together, it is partly how we form up into our ranks, each beat marking our time. 33 years ago, give or take, I first saw my wife in a pub, she...

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What remains – ghosts 1

What remains – ghosts 1

I’ve built up a bow wave of subjectivity over the years about ghosts. I grew up in a very lapsed-methodist household, my mum’s background was very low-church, she liked singing hymns in the kitchen at Sunday tea time. My dad sometimes, but very rarely made me say...

read more
Brighton, before the fall

Brighton, before the fall

When I was a kid and on into my teens I used to dream about the stars moving. I mean, I know they are actually moving, but then I could see them in 3D shifting and jittering, I could see the satellites and spacecraft in amongst them like an animated model right there...

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Cambridge – persistence of memory

Cambridge – persistence of memory

My mum grew up here. Her and therefore my ancestors were here for hundreds of years working as maids and cleaners, labourers, cartmen, and brickies, laying the railways, further back pulling the root veg through the surface of the peaty soils to the north or tending...

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Sucking Eggs

Sucking Eggs

  My mum is dead, she died over ten years ago at a 'ripe old age' after period of massive emotional instability and virtual madness bought on by a rather large stroke. It was a hinterland for her and us, her children. It lasted 18 months from the onset, the...

read more
The workhorse and the charger

The workhorse and the charger

I lived in North Walsham as a kid. RAF Coltishall was only about 6 miles away. We all grew up with the English Electric Lightning; the cold-war emblems, a sliver flash glossily belting past on high, occasionally breaking the sound barrier with that window-rattling,...

read more
9/11 – the years on

9/11 – the years on

Guest post from Louisa Griffith-Jones. Sometimes you just stumble across a remarkable piece of writing. Louisa posted this earlier today. I read this about 9/11 standing at a bus-stop, a lump in my throat. She is a friend, someone I remember from gigs in the early...

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On Utah Beach

On Utah Beach

We'd just been away. It didn't take me very long to remember that I'm not very good at holidays. The vacancy of it all gets to me very quickly, I find it difficult to relax and conjure 'fun' up out of being somewhere just because it's somewhere else. We tended to end...

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Dear Dad…

Dear Dad…

I've resisted the urge to paint this incomplete picture for a while. But when I started writing this some months ago it would have been my dad's birthday. This got me thinking about him and about how I'm heading towards the age he was when my mum had me. And I've...

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It’s beginning to and back again

It’s beginning to and back again

We went to London. We do this journey quite often, from the East it is a fairly routine trip, a day out; one of those the ever shortening distances that only just hold us all apart. We have offspring who have set up shop there in the expense and dull glitter, the piss...

read more
Approaching Nirvana

Approaching Nirvana

Heroes are strange beasts, as is memory. Nirvana never were particularly the former for me, but are very much part of the latter. Retrospectively 25 years on almost to the day it's still quite nice to know you were present at the stuttering birth of a new squalling...

read more