may 2026 books…

Muscovy (Matthew Francis): Another book of poetry (from our local £5 bookshop). I’d never come across Francis before, so it was something of a random/cheap purchase. He writes well – lots of wonderfully vivid descriptions, frequently coupled with a sense of irony – but I can’t say I was absolutely captivated by this collection of his work. Hey ho!
The New House (Lettice Cooper): Another Persephone book (first published in 1936). The author was Jilly Cooper’s husband’s aunt (JC writes the preface in this edition). The story relates to the events of one long day in the lives of a (somewhat privileged) family, when some of them move house (from an imposing family house in extensive grounds to a small one overlooking a housing estate). There’s the ageing, somewhat selfish, mother (still recovering after her husband’s death); her son (in a somewhat struggling marriage, with a young daughter and living relatively close by); a daughter (confident, ambitious, engaged and living+working in London); and a second (older) daughter (living at home under the spell of her mother – will she ever leave?). It’s written in such a way that you feel that you ‘know’ each of the characters; you might not necessarily agree with some of them, but I found myself really caring for them in their respective circumstances. There’s an awful lot crammed into a single day, but I was completely hooked by it in the end (and by the author’s talents).
Notes From An Island (Tove Jannson+Tuulikki Pietila): I’d previously read ‘Tove’ Jannson’s ‘The Summer Book’ and ‘A Winter Book’ (she was the creator of the Moomin stories, but they’re definitely NOT my ‘cup of tea’!), but had never come across this one (first published in 1996 – although her essay ‘The Island’ was written in 1961)(which I enjoyed very much). For 26 summers (they eventually had to stop in their mid-70s), she and her graphic artist+life partner, ‘Tooti’ Pietila, lived on a small, rocky island of Klovharum in the Gulf of Finland. With initial help from “maverick builder-fisherman (Brunstrom), they built a cabin. They retreated here to live, paint and write “energised by the solitude and shifting seascapes”. This small book of notes/observations/photographs is something between a diary and a memoir (plus Pietila’s rather beautiful etchings) and I found it rather beautiful (and frequently quite funny). The never-ending battle with the elements; the constant fishing for food; the wildlife (Tooti frequently had to do her art under an umbrella to avoid bombardment from seabirds!); the routines they developed (and their list-making!); and the solitude. I really enjoyed it.
Animal Farm (George Orwell): This is our next Storysmith bookclub’s book (theme; ‘animals in literature’). I first read this book (first published in 1945) more than 30 years’ ago and then re-read it three years ago… so, I’m quite ‘familiar’ with this ‘biting satire upon dictatorship’ (as my book’s cover puts it). You’re probably well aware of the story: a farm is taken over by its overworked, mistreated animals. With fierce idealism and stirring slogans, they set out to create a paradise of progress, justice, and equality. This wonderful, satirical book records the evolution from revolution against tyranny and, in turn, the devastating converse. The book includes the famous words: “All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others”. Times might have changed, but the message is still powerfully (+frighteningly) fresh – and, somehow, even more relevant with the likes of Trump ‘in charge’). Scarily brilliant.
In Secret (David Harsent): Another book of Harsent poetry. This one somewhat different to the books of his I’d previously read – based on some of the poems of the (unknown to me) Greek poet Yannis Ritsos (1909-90) he much admired (who wrote “in the face of ill health, personal tragedy and systematic persecution by successive hard-line right-wing regimes that lead to many years in prison or in island detention camps”). These feel like very compressed narratives… and yet, despite their fragmentation, they make for powerful reading.

the christophers…

Moira and I went along to the Watershed this morning (yes, morning… AND at the weekend too!) to see Steven Soderbergh’s film 'The Christophers', starring Ian McKellen and Michaela Coel.  

In the 1960s, Julian Sklar (McKellen) was a fixture of the London art scene, but he now lives in cluttered, self-imposed seclusion – something of a forgotten man (he’d been reduced from an illustrious household name to a man who sells spiteful video messages on ‘OnlyFans’!). Meanwhile, Julian’s estranged children (concerned that their inheritance was being depleted by Julian’s extravagant tastes and lack of output over the decades) have discovered an unfinished series of portraits in their father’s attic from Julian’s most prolific and successful period – inspired by his relationship with a man he called Christopher. They would like Lori (Coel), an ‘art restorer’ and an old art school acquaintance, to restore the canvases… and by ‘restore’ they mean forge them. I think I’d better leave it at that (* no spoilers)…

In fact, although the storyline had some merit, I thought the film’s main value related to the excellence of the acting and the chemistry between them. McKellen was predictably brilliant in a role that brought out the wealth of his acting talents – self-obsession/self-pity, charm, acidly witty observations and casual cruelty. I’d never previously come across Coel, but I thought she was perfect in her calm, ‘art restorer’/potential faker role. All played out by the two of them in a lovely, gentle, entertaining way.
The other aspect of the film that I found absolutely enchanting was Julian’s chaotic bohemian townhouse… someone must have really enjoyed themselves creating a film set of such convincing (and fascinating) clutter!
All in all, a very entertaining, enjoyable and rather lovely film.
PS: Perhaps my only gripe (and Moira agreed with me) was to do with the clarity of the dialogue at times (a regular issue with films for me these days)(American movies are the worse offenders!). I know my hearing isn’t 100%, but there were times when I did yearn for sub-titles (I know!).

cricket at taunton…

I went along to Taunton yesterday to watch the first day of the County Championship game between Somerset and Sussex. After a reasonable start to the season, Somerset had (somewhat embarrassingly) lost their previous two matches – after being in good positions after first innings in both of them… so, no pressure then!
Somerset won the toss and elected to bat and they went on to enjoy a pretty successful day – ending on 335-5 at the close. Tom Abell continued his excellent form, finishing on 74 not out at stumps, and James Rew celebrated his England Test squad call-up with an impressive 86 (including 3 sixes). Tom Lammonby also batted well for his 73. Sussex’s Ollie Robinson (also in England’s Test squad) bowled beautifully – especially in the morning session.
A really enjoyable day’s cricket and well worth my train journey!
I always enjoy watching cricket Taunton, but did find yesterday a little frustrating from a weather/spectator perspective. Somerset don’t make all their stands accessible (even for members), so there were two large areas of seating completely closed off (which, for the morning session, were both out of the wind and out of the sunshine). For me, as a non-member (I can’t access ‘membership stands’), my seating options – especially for the morning session, when there was only a smattering of sunshine and strong, cold winds blowing (ok, so I just had my jumper, no fleece or whatever!) – my options were somewhat limited. I could either sit in the face of the strong, cold wind; or in bleak shadow; or in the single, quite crowded stand. In the end, I just gritted my teeth and put up with the wind(!)… so it was good that the cricket was pretty decent. In the afternoon, when the sun was more prominent, I sat in a ‘perfect’ location… but the only problem was that it was a ‘no alcohol’ stand! So, I swallowed my pride (not beer!) and enjoyed the sunshine and the cricket. In the end, I only had a single pint of beer all day (which I consumed at lunchtime while poring over a treasure trove of old cricket books – fortunately, my satchel didn’t have any spare capacity!).
It was lovely to be back at Taunton… everything feels ‘just a little better’ than the quality of the cricket and/or the facilities you get at Bristol these days (despite the convenience, for me, of easy and speedy access). First Division cricket for £20, compared with Second Division cricket at Bristol for £17.
I hope to be back again soon.
PS: Somewhat ironically, Gloucestershire and Somerset were BOTH playing at home… so, when I heard that Glos had been 19-4 against Northants (they ended up 154 all out), I was glad I’d plumped for Taunton! Having said that, Northants struggled in their innings too and were 37-3 at the close (and rain had also stopped play)!
Photo: James Rew and Tom Lammonby leaving the field at lunchtime after a successful morning. 

club cricket in the sun…

Rather than watching Gloucestershire play Kent yesterday (or urban sketching in Bath), I decided to drop round to watch some club cricket at Bedminster CC, near Ashton Court. I love the whole business of club cricket… it feels very ‘real’ and down-to-earth compared with today’s ‘professional’ game which essentially seems to rely on player recruitment from public schools.
Having said that, yesterday’s main match was very different to the game of my youth! Bedminster 1^st XI were playing in a 50-over ‘white ball’ (what?) game against Burbage+Easton Royal; the teams were dressed in ‘coloured kit’ (what?) and, on top of it all, the umpires’s outfits meant they were indistinguishable from the opposition (what?)… the scoreboard was electronic, of course (no young lads updating numbers at the end of each over)(what?)… oh, and the wicket-keeper tucked his pads into his trousers (what?).
Yes, I know, I’m just a boring old codger these days!
But, hey, what a lovely way to spend outside in the sunshine…
Sitting close enough to the players to hear all their shouting and (mainly!) encouraging comments.
An awareness that many of the people watching were former players (and perhaps their sons were in the team?).
These are family occasions – with quite a few children in attendance by mid-afternoon.
The bar was open, the beer flowed and the cheese rolls were purchased.
And, of course, entry is free (which somehow justifies paying for the odd beer)!
Old men (mainly men) in small groups talking about ‘days gone by’.
The groundsman and the bar steward were clearly former players.
The idyllic backdrop (set against the suspension bridge).
Football was being played on the telly in the pavilion (this was later replaced by rugby!)(what?)
Impressive batting (from both sides – opening stands of 70 and 100+ respectively).
Outstanding wicket-keeping (with both keepers ‘standing up’ to quick bowlers).
Aged committee men pointing out ongoing issues.
The less successful batsmen trudging their way back to the pavilion and avoiding eye contact.
The hugely impressive standard of fielding – fast, athletic and accurate (very different from ‘my day’).
Bedminster’s opponents won the day by 5 wickets (one of the Burbage players scored a century; another scored 58 and took 5 wickets)(one of the Bedminster scored 57 and another 84 not out).
A lovely way to spend a summer afternoon.
Footnote: Meanwhile, on the club’s other pitch, Bedminster’s 4^th XI(!) were playing…
All the players wore traditional white and the ball was a traditional ‘red’.
The players were made up of a mix of youngsters and a few blokes ‘past their prime’.
I found the antics of one of the batsmen (a gentleman from ‘yesteryear’!) fascinating and somewhat annoying… he was rather arrogant in his manner and, of course, he was wearing his cricket cap; he was certainly not going to take any ‘quick singles’; and he clearly intended to show these ‘young whippersnappers’ a thing or two about the way the game should be played. I was glad when they got him out (quite cheaply)!
Bedminster also have a couple of women’s teams, but it was interesting to see that one of the 4^th XI’s players was female (perhaps aged 16/17?)… and she was a pretty impressive bowler too.
Photo: From the 4^th XI game (with the suspension bridge in the background and the impressive young woman bowler in action).

rose of nevada…

I went along to the Watershed yesterday afternoon to see Mark Jenkins’ film about a ghost ship. It’s a mysterious drama steeped in loss, memory and the uncertainties of coastal life. The film begins with a local fisherman, in a depressed fishing town, who is astonished to find a vanished trawler, lost 30 years before in a storm, bobbing innocuously in the harbour. The boat has returned from the dead… but how on earth has this happened? The man seeks out the widow of one of the drowned fishermen (a woman with two grown-up daughters) and tells her the boat has returned…
Its reappearance is embraced as an auspicious sign, with the local citizens convinced the luck of their economically devastated community may turn, if only the ship sails again. And so it’s decided that the boat should be put to work… and an old captain (Francis Magee) is recruited, along with two young crew members, Nick and Liam (George MacKay and Callum Turner)(I particularly loved MacKay’s performance). Liam ('boozy, drifter') flirts with the lost fisher’s daughter in a pub; she gives him a present of her late dad’s old red cap, which he wears on board.
In due course, they return from their fishing trip with their boat bulging with fish… but everything has changed… the town seems busier, people are smoking in the pub and everything's more lively than before. The awful truth is that they have gone back in time to 1993, three years before Nick’s birth, and everyone in town thinks that Nick and Liam are the two men who vanished. How come? It’s all very disturbing… what about Nick’s partner and child? But Liam has simply accepted the situation - an agreeable new reality of living with the widow – that is, the mother of the woman he had been flirting with – as a husband and father.
Reality? A happier future than the one that actually happened or a premonition of disaster and gloom from 30 years ago?
It’s an impressive, eerie, elusive, complex and haunting film (cleverly put together, where appropriate, to give the impression of times past/time slip) – exploring the realities (and unrealities!) of life in a fishing village, with its constant presence of death and the pressures of making a living for families and communities.
Gives a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘Gone Fishing’!

april-may 2026 books…

Loss (David Harsent): Again, Harsent has been part of my daily, early morning reading routine. Of all the Harsent books I’ve read, I found this the most difficult. It features a man sitting at a window through the dead hours of the night… he’s afflicted by personal loss, but also struggling with an awareness that he lives in a very troubled world. It’s enthralling, complex, intense and haunting.
She Who Remains (Rene Karabash): Our next Storysmith bookgroup selection (theme: books from obscure/under-represented countries – this one is from Bulgaria) and has been shortlisted for the International Booker Prize 2026. High in the Albabian Mountains, in a village ruled by the ancient laws of the Kanun, 17-year-old Bekija escapes an arranged marriage by becoming a sworn virgin, renouncing her womanhood to live as a man. Her decision sets off a brutal chain of events, destroying her family (by tradition, it triggers a blood feud between the families - one of Bekija’s family has to die. Bekija chooses her brother, Sále – but he runs away and so her father is killed instead). Crucially, it also separates her from her one true love (a woman named Dhana). 16 years later, as Bekija – now Matija – tells their story to a visiting journalist, long-buried truths come to light, along with the realisation of all that might have been. So much I could add (*no spoilers*)! The story is mainly told through the voice of Bekija (who is illiterate) and the narrative mostly lacks punctuation or conventional paragraphs. There were times when I found it quite confusing: it’s often difficult to distinguish things when a stream of words or individual words are simply divided by commas: Is that an observation, description or spoken word?… and who was saying or thinking that? But it’s a very beautiful, dark and haunting book (just 155 pages) – almost dreamlike in style.
Murder At The Beach (ed. Cecily Gayford): Billed, according to the book’s cover, as “Classic Mysteries for Summer”! This book comprised 10 short stories by such distinguished authors as Margery Allingham, Ellis Peters and Michael Innes and was very much as one might have anticipated – except that the tales didn’t always involve murders or necessarily have any direct connection with beaches… but hey! Enjoyable, straightforward, escapist reading matter.
In The Blood (Andrew Motion): Another re-read – I previously read this 15 years ago (first published 2006). I’m a great admirer of Motion’s writing but, in re-reading this engaging memoir, found myself frequently resenting (although not in an envious way) his middle-class upbringing and I particularly found the hunting, horse-riding and prep/public school stuff hard to take. Motion is 2-3 years younger than me and I couldn’t help contrasting our respective life styles (he didn’t go on his first bus until he was 10, poor chap!) and his detailed recollections compared with my own rather vague memories of childhood (fortunately my lovely brother is able to fill in many of the details!). Motion writes beautifully and, despite it being annoying at times (to me, at least, in my anti-establishment way!), I thought it was an amusing, honest, poignant and powerful book.
Hop, Step And Jump (Winifred Watson): Another Persephone book (first published in 1939). On the face of it, this isn’t ‘my kind of novel’. For a start, it’s a romance… but where this is perhaps a little different is that it’s about a woman having a second chance, moving on and changing creatively (apparently something of a common theme in some of Watson’s other novels). Jenny is a working-class young woman in 1930s England who abandons her husband… (probably best if I leave it at that: *no spoilers*!). It’s a book in which the author explores sexual, family and class tensions in ways that might flout convention, but which focus on a woman’s ability and determination to survive and flourish. An enjoyable and intriguing read.

hejira: a celebration of joni mitchell at st george’s…

One of my regrets in life is never to have seen Joni Mitchell perform ‘live’ and, clearly, it’s now very unlikely that this will change (after her brain aneurysm rupture in 2015, she no longer tours – just the occasional public performances). So, I content myself with playing and enjoying her music at home on a very frequent basis. As you might imagine, it reminds me of my early college days when I first ‘discovered’ her music… she’s been my musical idol ever since.
So, last night I went along to St George’s for a concert entitled ‘Hejira: A Celebration of Joni Mitchell’. Actually, some 18 months ago, I was at a similar concert at St George’s (‘The Songs of Joni Mitchell’) and, for that, I was joined by our Bristol-based daughters, Ru+Hannah, plus Moira (they’re lovely like that! xx). Last night was purely a personal, self-indulgent time to myself.
My favourite ‘Joni songs’ tend to be late 1960s/early 70s (Song to a Seagull, Clouds, Ladies of the Canyon, Blue etc); last night’s concert focussed mostly on songs from the late 70s - which was fine by me (although they did finish with an encore of ‘Both Sides Now’).
As I expected, it proved to be a really enjoyable evening, featuring: Hattie Whitehead (vocals+guitar); Ollie Weston (tenor+soprano saxophones); Chris Eldred (keyboards); Pete Oxley (guitar); Dave Jones (bass); Rick Finlay (drums); and Marc Cecil (percussion).
As usual, I sat upstairs in my favoured Gallery position – close to the stage. In some ways, this is a bit of a mixed blessing – a perfect view of the musicians/performers but, from a sound perspective, some of the quality clearly suffers. I thought that was the particularly the case last night. Vocalist Hattie Whitehead has a wonderful voice but, from my position, she was often somewhat drowned out, to some extent, by what seemed to be an over-enthusiastic drummer(!) – particularly in some of the songs before the interval. In some ways, I think the same comment could be applied to the other musicians. Don’t get me wrong, all of the musicians were clearly incredibly gifted artists in their own right, but I just had the feeling that, at times, some of them were trying too hard to impress! It’s probably all down to my seating location, but I just wanted to ‘turn down’ the drums, bass and guitar and to ‘turn up’ the singer!
Nevertheless, an evening of stunning music and wonderful memories.
Photo: From last night’s concert.
PS: Just in case you didn’t know, ‘Hejira’ is the name of Mitchell’s studio album, released in 1976 (fifty years ago!).
PPS: I also thought some of Pete Oxley’s ‘between-the-songs-chat’ went on far too long!

lincoln college, oxford: bear lane – 50 years on…

I was in Oxford yesterday (having lunch with three special ‘old’ friends) and, as I often do, I made sure I took the opportunity to stroll round this favourite city of my youth… including Christchurch Meadow, the Covered Market, the High and the like.
I also often take the opportunity to wander down Bear Lane – an area particularly close to my heart, because it was here that I was involved in a Graduate Housing scheme for Lincoln College (I was the project architect) while working for The Oxford Architects Partnership. That was back in 1976 – FIFTY years ago!
As you might imagine, access into this courtyard development in the heart of the city is strictly controlled and the last time I’d actually been inside was well over 30 years ago. By a stroke of luck, as I walking past the entrance on Bear Lane, one of the graduate students was entering. When I explained that I’d been the architect for the scheme and that it was 50 years old this year, he was only too pleased to allow me to step inside.
It conjured up lots of memories of when I was designing the scheme (including design meetings with the Bursar and where extravagant cakes were an essential ingredient!) and I had a real sense that the design had stood the test of time – certainly from an exterior perspective. It was also gratifying to see that it had been very well maintained and that the courtyards were clearly well-used.

A very special time.
Photos: some snaps taken on my brief walkabout.
PS: No doubt, 50 years on, today’s design brief would be somewhat different – provision for double beds and en-suite bathrooms would no doubt be high on the list of ‘essentials’! 

cricket in the april sunshine(!)…

I’ve vowed to watch more cricket this season… and so ended up at my second County Championship game of the season today in Bristol (Day 3: Gloucestershire v Lancashire). In part, I was keen to have an opportunity of watching James Anderson bowling for perhaps for the last time - well, for me at least (at the age of 43, how many more seasons does he have left in him?).
Gloucestershire have (again) had a struggling start to the season – they had lost their first two games by an innings. In this match, once again, their performance for the first two days had been depressingly poor: Glos 136 all out in the first innings (Lancs scored 240 in reply) and then finished the day 58-3 in their second innings (still 46 runs behind). Ridiculously, 17 wickets fell on the second day!
So the scene was set for the third day’s play (my brother reckoned I might be back home by 2pm!).
It all turned out very different… Glos’s overnight batsmen survived until just after lunch (Bracey ended on 114 and Hammond 82) and the home side were eventually bowled out for 305 – leaving Lancashire needing 202 runs to win. Lancashire ended the day 75-3 – still needing 127 runs to win.
Tomorrow promises to be a very close finish!
Photo: Anderson’s first ball of the day.
PS: Anyway, the sun DID shine and I thoroughly enjoyed my day.
PPS: James Anderson (sorry, Sir James Anderson!), at the age of 43, was the player I had really wanted to see in action. The last time I’d done so was in the Aussies Test at Edgbaston in 2019 – but, sadly, he only lasted 4 overs before going off with an injured calf. At Bristol, he looked to be head and shoulders above the other players (he ended up taking 3 wickets in Glos’s first innings and 4 in their second; almost got a hat-trick; and took a remarkable catch!).  

april 2026 books…

Inside The Wave (Helen Dunmore): I’ve read this book countless times – poems written at the end of Dunmore’s life (many from her hospital bed). Full of life’s reflections and memories. Another one of my early morning poetry ponderings. Beautiful and moving (as always).
Sincerity (Carol Ann Duffy): Another early morning re-read. Duffy is an acknowledged ‘top poet’, but I’ve never really particularly enjoyed her writing (despite having read four books of her poetry). This one “gazes out from the autumn of life” (in the words of the book’s cover) on scenes from her childhood, adolescence and adulthood… and “taking stock of a world in turmoil”. Sadly, for me, while I acknowledge her sincerity and sentiments, I once again found that her words didn’t really resonate for me.
The Places In Between (Rory Stewart): This fascinating book (first published in 2004) tells of Stewart’s remarkable journey at the beginning of 2002 on foot across Afghanistan, from Herat to Kabul – immediately following the defeat of the Taliban. Ridiculously (to the likes of me!), he chose to do so through the ice and snow of winter and, if that wasn’t hard enough, took the harshest, most inaccessible mountainous route (following the Mogul Emperor Babur)(Stewart had spent the previous 16 months walking through Iran, Pakistan and Nepal!). The journey took him 36 days (covering in excess of 25km each day!) and he endeavoured to record events in his diary at the end of each day (as well as sketching some of the people he stayed with along the way). The dangers and difficulties of the undertaking proved quite as intimidating as one would expect – unexploded mines, mountainous terrain, extreme weather, bandits/hostile factions (and further complicated by Stewart's acquisition of a large, elderly, toothless and semi-wild dog!). Stewart’s ability to speak and understand various languages was obviously crucial but, despite the difficulties, his survival was ultimately dependent on the kindness and hospitality of strangers in the villages they passed, who were mostly desperately poor. A rather wonderful book.
Greengates (RC Sherriff): Another Persephone book. I decided to read this book (first published in 1936) after previously having read and enjoyed Sherriff’s ‘The Fortnight In September’. The novel starts in the early 1920s, on the day Tom Baldwin retires (aged 58) from his job as Chief Cashier of an insurance company in London. Tom+Edith Baldwin live what appear to be pretty boring lives and the prospect of retirement seems somewhat depressing to them both. They have no family, no real friends, and very few interests. Edith finds the prospect of having Tom at home all day particularly challenging. But then, out of the blue, while re-tracing a walk they used to take in the early years of their marriage, they find that a new small housing estate is being planned close by… and they end up deciding to take the bold decision to sell up and move into one of these new houses… and the move transforms and revitalises their lives (new friends, new interests et al). It’s a ridiculously gentle, comfortable, feel-good tale of the ‘olden days’ – somewhat over-romanticised and idyllic - but, nevertheless, a welcome relief from some of today’s current horrors.  
And When Did You Last See Your Father? (Blake Morrison): I’d previously read this book twice before (first published 1993 – I first read it in 1994), but the last time was 15 years ago. It felt somewhat strange to be reading it again. Although Morrison’s father and my dad were very different characters (middle-class doctor/working-class printer), there were odd aspects of their stories that overlapped. Morrison’s father died in 1991, my dad died in 1992 (although my dad was a little older than Morrison); and Blake Morrison is a couple of years younger than me. It’s an incredibly honest, unflinching book. Morrison’s father was something of a charismatic, yet complicated man (“a loving father, a boastful ‘sexual charmer’, a skilled doctor, and a difficult man with a penchant for reckless driving and saving money”)… but, despite the obvious differences, the book triggered all sorts of memories of my own father and, at times, our own somewhat difficult relationship (and all those things I failed to ask him about!). What it also did was to remind me of my father’s final days – a time when I wanted to ask him about his life and his memories – but a time when my dad seemed in denial about his life coming to an end. A rather special book – and a compelling memoir.

first game of the cricket season at bristol…

I turned up at Bristol’s Seat Unique Stadium yesterday for Gloucestershire’s first home game of the cricket season. After Gloucestershire’s ‘very disappointing’ innings defeat by Middlesex earlier in the week, the signs weren’t good!
Anyway, a fresh start (I thought!). A chance to make amends(!?).
It didn’t start well.
Glos won the toss and put Durham in to bat (really?!).
The Durham openers made a nonsense of that decision by batting away untroubled in beautiful sunshine… and, at lunch, were 143-0 in 30 overs (at just a little under 5 runs/over!). By 2pm (170-0), Durham’s 21-year-old opener, McKinney, had scored his century. Just after 3pm (257-0), Durham’s other opener Lees had also become a centurion. Lees was eventually the first wicket to fall (305-1 in the 59^th over) – just after the floodlights had been switched on at 3.30pm!
It didn’t end well either (for Glos)!
The weather deteriorated somewhat (cold, blustery winds) and rain stopped play for a brief time. Play later resumed, but the day ended early when the players departed due to bad light – by which time, Durham’s score had advanced to 456-2 (with McKinney on 214 not out).
A really poor day for Gloucestershire (but a not altogether surprising one?)… and another defeat already beckons. I’m afraid they look like a very ‘ordinary’ team. The captain used eight (EIGHT!) bowlers yesterday and, frankly, none of them looked at all impressive or threatening. Last season, their batting was unreliable (to put it mildly) and I suspect it’ll be the same old story this season… and so the team will probably languish in the bottom half (or worse!) of the County Championship’s Division 2.
Frankly, I only go along to watch Gloucestershire because they’re my ‘local’ team and because I love watching ‘old fashioned’ cricket. Watching Somerset at Taunton (in Division one) would be a much better prospect – but involves a 30 minute+ train journey. Instead, I jump on no.75/76 bus and can be in the ground within 20 minutes.
So, I’ll no doubt continue to ‘enjoy’ watching my cricket in Bristol… sitting among tiny ‘crowds’ of under 100 people (and all of us old codgers)… and everyone talking about the ‘good old days’ and mis-remembering the cricketing days of their youth!!
Photo: This is McKinney hitting his second ‘six’ of the day – and the game is still only 55 minutes old!
Note: Sadly, yesterday, even though it’s the school holidays, I counted only half a dozen children in attendance.

march-april 2026 books…

A Bird’s Idea Of Flight (David Harsent): Another book of Harsent’s poetry. This one, at times, I found quite hard to grasp. It describes a circular journey which focusses on (in the words of the book’s cover) the “deeply curious business of his own death… during which the figure of death, as companion, mentor and guide, appears along the way in various guises”. Sometimes obscure, sometimes extraordinary – but his way with words is always intriguing.
Essex Clay (Andrew Motion): This is a beautiful prose-poem description of three events that have haunted Motion throughout his writing life, namely: the story of his mother’s death in a riding accident, long unconsciousness and slow death; recalling the end of his father’s life; and an unexpected meeting with an old love after 40 years. I read the book out loud to myself as part of my daily early morning time of reflection. Profound, haunting and really rather wonderful.
A Year In Provence (Peter Mayle): Strangely, but in a very comforting way, this book (first published in 1989 – 37 years ago!) came to mind as I reflected on all the awful things happening in the world at the present time… The thought felt like a reassuring, calming reminder of the beauty of nature and all those people and places that make our lives special (a tenuous link perhaps, but hey!). I think this is the third time I’ve read the book but, sadly, I’d given my copy away and so ended up buying another copy… BUT (wait for it!), on finishing reading it this time and in the process of tidying it away on our shelves, I came across our original copy (I know!) – all appropriately arranged in alphabetical author order and, of course, alongside all the other ‘white spine’ books!! Once again, the book ticked all those ‘comforting’ boxes. He writes beautifully, evocatively and amusingly… although I do have some reservations about the sense of privileged arrogance that the book represents? Hey ho… I still very much enjoyed it.
Wilderness Taunts (Ian Adams): I think this is the fifth time I’ve used my great friend Ian Adams’s book as part of my Lenten reflections. Each time, I find his words incredibly challenging, thought-provoking and helpful… and I have absolutely no doubt that I’ll continue to use this rather wonderful book for many years to come. For me, it’s a very special book.
Treasures New+Old (Rupert Martin): This is a book of biblical-based images and essays by my good friend Rupert. The photographs provide an A-Z of images from the Bible. From the outset (and you won’t be surprised by this), I have to admit that I didn’t purchase the book because of its biblical texts (very well researched - with perhaps up to a dozen biblical references for each key word)… no, I did so knowing that it would contain lots of Rupert’s rather wonderful photographs compiled from his extensive travels over the past four decades (and I was duly impressed!).

orwell 2+2=5…

I went along to the Watershed again this morning (11am showing – for old retirees like me!)(surprisingly, there must have been an audience of some 80-100) to see Raoul Peck’s film about the Nineteen Eighty-Four novelist.
Obviously, one appreciates that going to watch a documentary film about George Orwell isn’t going to be a bundle of laughs(!) – particularly when we have a madman like Trump ‘in charge’ of a significant portion of the western world - and so it proved. Listening to Orwell’s prose (read by Damian Lewis) from his published works, letters and diaries is a sobering experience (albeit strangely invigorating). I don’t think I’d been fully aware that he’d written his ‘1984’ masterpiece when he was so close to his death (the book was published in 1949, he died the following year).  
It’s a very impressive film.
Obviously, with all footage available of past+present totalitarian/scary regimes, the documentary was spoilt for choice as far as illustrative examples were concerned. Orwell actually predicted the rise of AI and, of course, we now have the internet when it comes ‘information’ availability (and, with it, ‘fake news’ and propaganda). The documentary also includes present-day videos involving the likes of Trump, Orban, Modi, Netanyahu and Putin. No doubt, Orwell would have just nodded and said “I told you so”!
Overall, while I thought the documentary film was excellent, there are lots of gaps when it comes to some of the somewhat controversial aspects of Orwell’s life (eg. his anti-Semitic views in his younger days) and so there were times when I almost felt I was being ‘manipulated’ and that perhaps I wasn’t being given a more balanced view of things (but, hey, don’t get me wrong – I’m on Orwell’s side!).
It was a very powerful film and yet, somewhat predictably, also a pretty depressing one. It left me feeling very sad about how things might pan out in the coming years – not my future, of course, but my children’s children’s futures.
Oh for a simple, beautiful world of decency, integrity, honesty, respect and love.

march 2026 books…

Penguin Modern Poets: Jackson, Nuttall+Wantling: First published in 1968 (Moira bought our copy the same year)… so, 58 years on, I’m not quite sure that the word ‘Modern’ in this Penguin series still applies! Once again, I read this book out loud to myself as one of my early morning routines. A real mixture of styles and, perhaps inevitably, some seemed somewhat dated… but enjoyable nonetheless.
Falling In Love (Donna Leon): When the world has lost its marbles, it’s probably time to read another crime novel(!)… and, of course, if it takes you to Venice in the process, then so much the better. This is another Commissario Brunetti story (I like him as a character… and his references to family life etc). This one involves an opera superstar (well used to adoring fans) at La Fenice in Venice one over-the-top anonymous admirer who inundates her with dozens of bouquets of yellow roses… in her dressing room and inside her locked apartment. She begins to fear for her safety and calls in an old friend. Enter Brunetti. Another enjoyable read.
Train Dreams (Denis Johnson): This is our next Storysmith bookgroup choice (which we’re reading and then seeing the film at 20th Century Flicks). First published in 2012, this novella tells the tale of a 1920s railroad worker, Robert Grainier. He’s an ordinary man – uneducated and unambitious, but a dependable worker – initially working preparing huge felled spruce trees for transportation down from Washington State. But it’s a fragile existence in the wilds of the frontier amid a world of bewildering changes. Indiscriminate, destructive forest fires are commonplace – and his wife and daughter fail to survive one of them). Grainier builds a makeshift shelter by the site of his destroyed home and falls into a grief that runs its long course, redefining him in the process as something of a recluse. Later, his dogged struggle is eased somewhat when he acquires a horse and wagon – which allows him to undertake odd jobs in the neighbouring town. It’s a book about nature, survival, sadness and grief. A tough, but rather beautiful book (I’ll be fascinated to see what the film version conjures up).
Paradise (Abdulrazak Gurnah): This is our next Blokes’ Book selection. This is a novel (first published in 1994) about an African boy's coming of age, a tragic love story, and a tale of the corruption of traditional African patterns by European colonialism. As a 12-year-old, Yusuf (in the decade before WW1), is sold by his father in repayment of a debt. From the simple life of rural Africa, Yusuf is thrown into the complexities of pre-colonial urban East Africa - a world in which Muslim Africans, Christian missionaries, and Indians from the subcontinent coexist in a fragile, subtle social hierarchy (with some communities fighting each other; trading safaris going badly wrong; and all this alongside the trials of adolescence). By the time he’s 18(?), Yusuf begins to comprehend the choices required of him but, just as he decides on the need to break free from his servitude under his so-called Uncle Aziz (“he isn’t my uncle!”), the German colonial forces invade and, instead of finding true freedom, a traumatized and desolate Yusuf chooses to run after the retreating German military column… and, almost certainly into a new form of bondage. A multi-layered, powerful novel about Africa on the brink of change. Hauntingly beautiful.
Legion (David Harsent): More early morning poetry. I came across Harsent poetry for the first time last month (‘Salt’) and was determined to read more of his work. This is a collection (first published in 2005) of various accounts of conflict from an unnamed war which, in a cruel irony, I started to read on the day the US+Israel launched bombs on Iran. Powerful - and frequently bleak - words that underline the starkness, pain and indiscriminate nature of conflict. Much food for thought.

sirât...

I went along to the Watershed again yesterday (it had been a few weeks since my last cinema outing!) to see Oliver Laxe’s film Sirât. I’d noticed that the film had been nominated for two Oscars (Best International Feature and Best Sound) and so thought ‘I’d give it a go’. I got to the cinema 15minutes before the show started and decided to check on Peter Bradshaw’s (from The Guardian) film review – as I often do – only to find that he’d given it a mere 2-star rating. Nevermind, I thought, I’m here now!
Set in the dusty mountains of southern Morocco, a father (Luis) and his son have arrived at a rave (miles from anywhere) searching for Mar - daughter and sister - who vanished months ago at one of these endless, sleepless parties. Hope is fading, but they push through and follow a group of ravers heading to one last party in the desert…
Well, although it wasn’t quite my kind of music, I can well understand why the film had been nominated for ‘Best Sound’ (Kangding Ray’s suitably rave-like soundtrack was intoxicating… and very loud!) but, after a while, as the story unfolded, I started to ask myself “is that it?”. I could imagine a group of drug-induced film executives sitting around a conference table and discussing what would make a suitable film… music, hippies, drugs, mountains, deserts, beaten-up buses and people dying? Really (I thought)??
I’m afraid I came out at the end of the film feeling somewhat underwhelmed (understatement!).
I don’t normally do this but, in the circumstances (and the fact I have little to say when it comes to any kind of assessment), I’ll leave you with Peter Bradshaw’s words: “…Well, the dual narrative possibilities and consequences of Mar’s discovery or non-discovery fade away into nothingness as the story disappears into the sand, as does the question of whether the hippies and Luis could conceivably learn from each other. In their shock and despair after the tumultuous events that follow, they take psychoactive substances and dance to electronic music thumping out of their speakers. The film’s doors of perception remain closed. Sirāt is a path to nowhere, an improvised spectacle in the Sahara; it is very impressive in the opening 10 minutes but valueless as it proceeds, and a pointless mirage of unearned emotion”.
You can’t win all the time (or am I just a boring old codger?!).

february-march 2026 books…

Gwen John (Alicia Foster): I read this book prior to attending the exhibition of the artist’s work at the National Museum, Cardiff – and it proved very useful. Although I had long been an admirer of her work, I knew only rudimentary facts about her life. Like her brother, Augustus, she attended the Slade School of Fine Art from the age of 18 – which unlike the Royal Academy, for instance, allowed male and female artists to work and study together relatively unimpeded. What I hadn’t realised was that, from 1904 until her death in 1939, she went on to spend most of her time in Paris… and, indeed, was Rodin’s lover (and frequent model) for some 10 years! I had imagined her as being something of a recluse (‘famous for painting solitary women’), but this was far from being the case. Towards the end of her life she embraced an ardent Catholicism. A useful, fascinating book that filled in LOTS of gaps in my knowledge about Gwen John and the background to some of her beautiful paintings.
The Impossible Fortune (Richard Osman): Two admissions: a) I’m appalled that ‘celebrities’ who make shed loads of money doing ‘other things’, decide to become writers, make shed loads of more money while aspiring writers struggle to make ends meet, and b) I have to admit that Osman is a very clever, gifted author! Ridiculously, I realise that this is the fifth ‘Thursday Murder Club Mystery’ that I’ve read… and, just like the others, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed this “warm, wise and witty” novel (as Val McDermid has apparently described it). I love all of the Murder Club’s characters (especially Joyce!). Another very pleasurable read.
Salt (David Harsent): I came across this book of poetry at our local £5 Bookshop. I’d never previously come across the author but, slowly reading his poems out loud to myself (as you do!) as one of my early morning rituals, I came to really enjoy his ‘way with words’. The book’s dust jacket provides an apt description: “The poems in this book are a series, not a sequence. They belong to each other in mood, in tone and by way of certain images and words that form a ricochet of echoes – not least the word ‘salt’”. I rather loved it and will seek out more of Harsent’s poetry in future.
Magic In Mossthorn Bridge (Alice Broadway): Exciting to be reading a new book by our very gifted author daughter (she’s a wonderful story-teller)! The book’s cover describes it as “a sweet and cozy small-town romance” – which, on the face of it, is really not my ‘scene’(!)… and yet I found it quite compelling (I read it in 2 days!). The setting is the town and community of Mossthorn Bridge in the north of England. After 10 years’ absence, a young woman returns to run her aunt’s music shop. But there are issues: a) her ‘first love’ still lives in the town (their relationship hadn’t ended well), b) her old flame is the son of the town's biggest landlord/landowner (who thinks he rules the town), c) their respective families despise each other and d) there’s magic involved (which rather complicates things!!). The two young people are forced into taking part in a community play (a very selective retelling of the town's history – written by the aforementioned major landowner/father). A story about power, music, fable/magic and love. I’m looking forward to the sequel already!
Waterland (Graham Swift): This rather lovely – and sometimes challenging - book (first published in 1983) is a brilliant mixture of history of England, a Fenland documentary and a fictional autobiography. It’s about the changing landscape/land reclamation, social history, empire-building, brewers, sluice-minders, Victorian patriarchs, local eccentrics and family fortunes… oh, and murder, incest, guilt and insanity! Swift is a brilliant writer and I found the novel completely enthralling.

february 2026 books…

WH Auden, selected poems (John Fuller): I’m not very familiar with Auden’s poetry (understatement), but have been reading this book’s poems out loud to myself during my recent early morning reflections. I frequently don’t feel clever enough to appreciate the form/structure of poetry in general and/or sometimes the intellect to understand what a poet is trying to say (I’d find a scribbled ‘context note’ very useful on occasions!!), but I really enjoyed Auden’s way with words and will certainly seek out more of his poetry in due course.
Let Us Go Then, You and I (TS Eliot): Another attempt to familiarise myself with the work of renown poets! Another book that I read out loud to myself as the day was slowly emerging. My comments (above) about Auden’s writing could equally well be applied to these works from Eliot – although, I have to say, I suspect I’ll never really become one of his greatest fans!
TonyInterruptor (Nicola Barker): The novel (published in 2026) begins with a heckler disrupting a music gig… thanks to social media, the public interruption goes viral… this single event reverberates through the online world (trial by social media for artistic fraudulence?) and, as the book’s dustjacket puts it, “poses fundamental questions about authenticity, the internet, love and truth”. I think it’s a very funny, clever, satirical book about art and authenticity in today’s somewhat pretentious world. I enjoyed the quirky relationships of the characters (and the way they collide) and the wealth of ideas the author conjures up… but, did I enjoy it? Well, not entirely… and, once again(!), I was left thinking that my intellect (and/or lack of familiarity with how many people experience and use social media?) wasn’t quite up to appreciating it fully. My loss, no doubt.
Called By The Hills (Anuradha Roy): This is our next Storysmith bookgroup choice (theme: non-fiction). Initially, I confused the writer with another Indian writer (Arundhati!) – but soon realised that Anuradha was an acclaimed author in her own right… and also a gifted artist, potter and passionate gardener. The book tells the story of how, more than 25 years ago, she and her husband stumbled upon a derelict, tiny cottage/hut in the hill station of Ranikhet (in northern India, west of Nepal). As a result, they decided it was where they wanted to live – leaving the freneticism of Delhi behind – and so began their story of building a home and a garden on the edge of the Himalayan wilds. It all sounds rather idyllic – and indeed it is. But also full of challenges such as times of severe rains, landslips, falling trees, insects, snakes, leopards, surrounding poverty, isolation and lack of basic services. However, in these times of depressing politics, politicians and celebrities, I found this gentle, humane and beautiful book (which has several reproductions – sadly small in size – of her beautiful watercolour paintings) about her home, her surroundings, her dogs and the local characters that embellish her life rather wonderful. I absolutely loved it.
I Remember (Joe Brainard): Strangely, in recent weeks, I’ve found myself recalling brief moments from my life (and have vaguely wondered if I should start compiling a list?)… and then came across Brainard’s book (he was writer and artist who died from AIDS in 1994, aged 52), which is packed with “I remember” thoughts (more than 1,500 of them!)… so, I obviously had to buy a copy! In the event, although there were several laugh-out-loud moments, I found the book pretty mundane – full of somewhat unremarkable observations such as “I remember when I was very young thinking that shaving looked pretty dangerous”… “I remember feeling sorry for kids at church, or school, who had ugly mothers”… “I remember trying to visualise what my insides looked like”. It felt as if he’d forced himself to sit down and produce these stream-of-consciousness thoughts in one sitting while consuming several bottles of wine! The book’s cover describes it as “a literary and artistic cult classic”… but I’m afraid it left me somewhat unimpressed. 

january-february 2026 books…

The Christmas Egg (Mary Kelly): One of those ‘Bristish Library Crime Classics’ (or so it says on the book’s cover)… first published in 1958. The action starts in London on 22 December: Chief Inspector Nightingale and Sergeant Beddoes have been called to a gloomy flat off Islington High Street. An elderly woman lies dead on the bed and her trunk has been looted. The woman is Princess Olga Karukhin – an émigré of Civil War Russia – her trunk is missing its glittering treasure. All the action is crammed into a 3-day period leading up to Christmas… there were times when I felt that the pace of developments felt unrealistically swift and straightforward (with the sergeant seemingly able to receive and implement orders/pursue leads FAR quicker than the police do in ‘Midsomer Murders’ – even without the internet, mobile phones and the like!). An intriguing, well-written, easy-read, get-away-from-the-world-of-Mr-Trump, typical crime novel.
Journey Into Cyprus (Colin Thubron): Apparently, this is the first Thubron book I’ve read (well, it’s the only one since I started my blog 20 years ago… but I feel sure there have been others before that!). First published in 1975, the book is Thubron’s account of his 600-mile trek (in 1972) around the island of Cyprus – before the Turkish invasion in 1974. It’s part-geographical/travel, part-history and, crucially for me, includes accounts with some of the people he met en-route and their generosity/hospitality (he frequently overnighted in monasteries, but also often accepted a mattress in a family’s tiny, simple home). Thubron is an excellent writer and I very much enjoyed his fascinating observations and insights (eg. the island’s unhappy+unequal divisions; the contrasting Gothic+Byzantine architecture; the contrasting Greek Orthodox+Sunni Muslim faiths; the Greek+Turkish traditions… not to mention the climate and the food!).
Home Stretch (Graham Norton): I’m not (with certain exceptions) a great lover of books written by so-called celebrities, but hey! This is a novel set in a small Irish community in 1987. The local community is shattered by a terrible car accident which kills 3 young people and seriously injures a fourth. Two young men survive unscathed. Out of a sense of guilt, one of them decides he needs to leave the community, taking his secrets with him… but the awful event continues to haunt him over the course of years and, ultimately, he feels the need to confront his past. It’s a book about love, loss, and acceptance… I think I’ll leave it there (*no spoilers*). It’s an enjoyable, very readable novel (albeit maybe a bit predictable/dumbed down?). Norton is a good storyteller. 
The Nikel Boys (Coleson Whitehead): This is our next Blokes’ bookgroup selection. Based on a real-life brutal Florida reform school in the 1960s, this novel (first published in 2019) demonstrates how racism in America has long operated (in the words of one reviewer) as a “codified and sanctioned activity”. With all the horrible stuff currently happening in the US about what the current administration has characterised as a “public safety operation aimed at deporting criminals illegally in the country”, reading this novel felt like a timely reminder that some things there (albeit not so blatantly colour-prejudiced) haven’t really changed. Elwood was raised by his grandmother. He was a bright boy (getting good grades). He’s inspired by his civil rights activist teacher and by the writings of Martin Luther King… but he ended up being sent to the Nickel Reform school through an error of judgement (he’d hitched a ride with a man who’d stolen the car!). Once inside, getting out proved to be almost impossible. Rigid black and white segregation; racist staff; violent beatings (years later, they discover bodies buried in unmarked graves on the school site). It’s an incredibly powerful, shocking story which ‘brought me up short’ on more than one occasion (*no spoilers*). A devastating, moving and impressive novel.
The Soulwater Pool (Claire Williamson): I first read this 10 years ago. The story unfolds over 2 days and features five characters and is set out in short, poetic reflections (often just a single page long) – each given a heading in the form of the named character and their location (eg.”Ella: In the Park”). It’s a surprising and subtle book – enhanced by the starkness of its rather beautiful format. Excellent.   

hamnet...

Moira and I went along to the Watershed yesterday to see Chloé Zhao’s film based on Maggie O’Farrell’s extraordinary, brilliant book (which I read 5 years ago) – which reimagines the agonising loss of a child as the source of Hamlet’s grand stage drama. It locates the play’s beginning in the imagined anguish of Shakespeare and his wife, Anne/Agnes Hathaway, at the death of their son Hamnet at the age of 11 in 1596 (apparently, there’s linguistic evidence that the two names could be used interchangeably) a few years before the play’s first performance - and long before Shakespeare had started to become recognised in London for his writing. It’s an incredibly painful and stark reminder of a time when disease was rife and childhood death common.
The performances of Paul Mescal (Will) and Jessie Buckley (Agnes) are quite, quite brilliant … and also the performances of their children (played by Jacobi Jupe, Olivia Lines and Bodhi Rae Breathnach) were beautifully impressive – as was the cinematography by Łukasz Żal and the score by Max Richter.
After having read O’Farrell’s magnificent book, there was part of me that didn’t want to see the film on the basis that it wouldn’t do the book justice… but I needn’t have worried, it’s been wonderfully adapted (O’Farrell and Zhao were screenplay co-writers).
I cried… I think you might cry too.
Just go and see it… you MUST. 

january 2026 books…

Smart-Aleck Kill (Raymond Chandler): Four short(ish), interconnected crime stories, first published in 1958, involving a private detective hired by a film studio to handle a blackmail threat against a director. Needless to say, it’s all very complicated… and involves drugs, mobsters, hit-squads and shoot-outs. Frankly, I was never really a lover of Chandler’s books and this merely confirmed my opinion. Sorry.
The Blank Wall (Elisabeth Sanxay Holding): First published in 1947, the novel portrays the everyday realities of the American home front (with all its rationing and shortages) through the eyes of Lucia Holley – a mother of two in New York with a husband serving in the Navy and a father also part of the household. She writes letters to her husband at war and generally manages all the domestic issues – but there are also darker, unexpected challenges that arise when she finds herself unexpectedly entangled in a web of criminal activity. Fiercely protective of her family, she is forced to navigate deception and danger to protect them and their reputations. The result is a compelling psychological thriller that is both gripping and unsettling. A tense start to the New Year!
The Heart Of A Goof (PG Wodehouse): First published in 1926 (100 years ago!), in Wodehouse’s inimitable style, this is a book about golf (the book’s cover defines ‘Goof’ as “one of those unfortunate beings who have permitted golf into their souls, like some malignant growth”!). It consists of a “nine-hole course of stories” told (hilariously) by the “Oldest Member” – who, these days, seems to spend all his time sitting a comfy chair in the clubhouse and grabbing hold of passing club members and insisting (against their better judgement) on recounting tales of days gone by and of “big two-fisted he-men floundering around (golf courses) in three figures”* (ie. failing to score below 100). As one would expect, it’s ridiculously dated and yet still very, very funny. A great escape from the idiocy of the present world in which we live.
The End We Start From (Megan Hunter): This is our latest Storysmith bookgroup choice (‘a book less than 200 pages long’ – after the previous 600+). First published in 2017 (and a mere 127 pages long), this futuristic fable tells of a woman who gives birth as flood waters close over London. Days later, they’re forced to leave home in search of safety… the long journey north will prove dangerous… It reminded me of Cormac McCarthy’s ‘The Road’. I started reading it on the day red alert weather warnings were being issued in the UK and with “tens of thousands without power” (not to mention the dystopian world of Mr Trump!). It’s a powerful, disturbing, thought-provoking and utterly believable book… and I loved its slender, poetic composition. One of those haunting books that stay with you long after you’ve finished it.
Let Me Be The Kind Who Weeps (Jon Swales): Jon Swales is an ordained Priest in the Church of England. He heads up Lighthouse – described as a “fresh expression of church for adults battered and bruised by the storms of life”. I’ve been using this book as part of my daily early morning reflections (and reading his poems out loud to myself!). I found his prose quite moving at times – especially his poems “from the margins” about his experiences with “those battered and bruised by the storms of life”. My own faith journey continues to run its somewhat disenchanted course, but I found this book both rewarding and, in many ways, encouraging.