2024 reflections…

I’ve been blogging New Year reflections for something like 15 years (just for me and my fading memory!). I was tempted to drop this ‘tradition’ last year, but ended up persevering… and this year feels somewhat similar.
Our year started with Ru presenting us with 1,000 (ONE THOUSAND!) paper cranes she’d made to mark the end of our Golden Anniversary year… an amazing, humbling gift – nearly 300 of them now hang in one of our living room windows.
Moira and I live a pretty simple life. We moved from Southville (just 1.5 miles away) three and a half years ago and now live in the very heart of Bristol, with the cathedral and central library as our next door neighbours… and the harbour within a 5-minute walk… and we continue to love it.
 
BOOKS
Books are a very important part of my life (even though we gave some 600-700 books to charity when we moved, we still have more than 2,000 on our shelves – so it’s become a case of one in/one out… and the local Oxfam Bookshop is the beneficiary!). This year, I’ve read 80 books (I keep a tally as a reminder!)(last year it was 85!). My favourite books were probably: Foster (Claire Keegan)(I COULD have selected FOUR Keegan books as my favourite books, but…); Orbital (Samantha Harvey); Devotions (Mary Oliver)(a re-read – I first read it last year); Politics On The Edge (Rory Stewart); The State Of Us (Jon Snow); Killing Time (Alan Bennett): and The Farmer’s Wife (Helen Rebanks).
FILMS
Like last year, I’ve haven’t watched a lot of films in 2024 (a combination of continuing post-Covid filming disruptions and/or fewer films that have appealed etc?). This year only 11 trips to the Watershed (the same as last year). My best films were probably: The Outrun; Perfect Days; Small Things Like These; Conclave; and Lee.
THEATRE
My/our theatre-going has been pretty awful this year (partly due to Moira’s hearing struggles; one trip to RSC at Stratford (Pericles – featuring Felix), but, sadly, zero trips to Bristol Old Vic (I know!).
CONCERTS
We’re very fortunate to live so close to both St George’s and the Beacon. Concerts attended: John Martyn Project; Steve Knightley; Oysterband+June Tabor; Three Cane Whale; Songs of Joni Mitchell; and Jon Hopkins… all excellent, but I think my favourite concert was a lunchtime piano recital in the cathedral by Pete Judge of various pieces composed by him.
EXHIBITIONS
Undoubtedly, the best exhibitions I attended this year were Ru’s and Stu’s (in Frome and Bristol respectively). The Walker Gallery in Liverpool was also excellent – although we did confine our viewing to UK art in the 1920/30s in our brief visit. Other exhibitions included Toulouse-Lautrec in Bath and various exhibitions at the RWA (we have Art Passes so drop in quite frequently).
SPORT EVENTS
Very little to report here! Cricket was the only ‘live’ sport that I actually watched during the course of the year, but even that was only occasional – two days watching Gloucestershire in Bristol; also watched cricket at Bedminster CC on three occasions. Must do better next year!!
ART
This is my main form of ‘activity’! I continue posting on my daily ‘One Day Like This’ blog (a drawing and a photograph on alternate days) – which has been running for the past 12 years (since September 2012) and has now amassed over 4,500 posts.
I continue to be involved in the wonderful Urban Sketchers Bristol group (I’ve participated for the past 6 plus years and am now also one of the administrators). We meet at least once a month throughout the year and usually meet up in a pub to share our sketchbooks afterwards. I also try to get to the Urban Sketchers Bath gatherings whenever I can.
Having the cathedral next door, the building and its beautiful garden have continued to be one of my regular sketching locations (I think I have now amassed some 60 cathedral-based sketches!).
HOLIDAYS
Holidays don’t really feature very highly in our lives (that may be a sad reflection on us or the fact that we enjoy our fairly simple routines living in the heart of our lovely city). We had a lovely few days in Liverpool (with a hotel bedroom overlooking the Royal Albert Dock) and went on to spend a few days in the Buckshaw area with Alice+co.
HEALTH
We’re both getting older! Medication has continued to keep Moira’s Parkinson’s in check… but, by its very nature, its effects vary on a day-to-day basis. She eventually (2.5 years after her initial consultation!) had a second face-to-face appointment with her consultant in September. Rest and diet are important – as is regular exercise; Moira impressively (to me) does her ‘PD Warrior’ exercises via video link perhaps three times a week. She struggles with sciatica and visits a physiotherapist on a regular basis, but on other medical matters, she was delighted to now by the recipient of Bluetooth hearing aids – which, brilliantly, now means she can have ‘proper’ telephone conversations – SUCH a blessing!
As for me, I was delighted to have had my left hip replacement operation in May (my right hip was replaced 10 years ago). Everything went very well and I’m now moving around like an Olympic athlete (I wish!). Huge thanks to the NHS!
I really don’t like the ageing process! I have my two hearing aids; I wear my two lots of specs; I go for regular glaucoma checks; my teeth continue to disintegrate(!)
other stuff; I have my annual ‘health check’ at the GP surgery (hardly extensive, but worthwhile methinks – this year they showed that I’m approaching the Diabetes ‘concern’ level, so I’m currently following a ‘programme’ (or my version of it anyway) in an effort to make the necessary improvements).
SPIRITUAL STUFF
Although I frequently reflect on ‘spiritual matters’, I’ve continued to opt out of attending church services – and have done so for more than two years now. I’ve attended two eucharists in the past 3 years (one at the recent funeral of a dear friend and the other at a ‘silent eucharist’ in the Cathedral at the end of November). Moira continues to attend church pretty regularly. I miss the people, but I don’t miss the ‘church stuff’… and, these days, I only rarely attend the monthly Resonate discussion evenings. Meanwhile, I continue to go along to our weekly 7.30am café gatherings - referred to as ‘Blokes Prayer’ (and we are all ‘ageing males’ and I’m one of the oldest!) - consisting of six or so old fogeys/special friends and which have now been going for more than 6 years. I suppose it has effectively become my ‘church’ (or nearest equivalent)… although, in all honesty, I have a rather different approach to faith/belief with some of the others. I’ve become increasingly disenchanted by the Church of England and, for me these days (and I realise I’m very much the exception as far as Christians are concerned), I really struggle with SO many of the words in the Bible and church service liturgies.
I’m a very early riser and, these days, use much of my early morning time sitting on my ‘thinking seat’ - reading words form the likes of Mary Oliver or Ronald Blythe and sometimes writing stuff myself – and, of course, looking at the emerging day from our balcony. They’re special times.
FAMILY STUFF
We’re very, very fortunate. We have a wonderful family (daughters Ru, Hannah and Alice and 6 grandchildren… although two of the grandchildren are now fully-fledged adults!) – who we absolutely adore. It’s lovely to hear of their achievements and what’s going on in their busy lives… but it’s also a reminder of the challenges young adults/adolescents face and how difficult (and rewarding) parenting is at times and how much we need to value stuff like mental health. Juggling family life, school, friendships and work can be a complicating business! We feel very blessed by having two of our daughters and their families also living in the city and so we see them all regularly, which is very lovely… but it’s been a difficult year for Alice+co (she and Dave got divorced last April, not Alice’s decision) and, for us here in Bristol, Lancashire feels a long way away in such times.
 
OTHER STUFF:
My early morning walking activities have dropped depressingly over the past 12 months (due to my ongoing hip issues)(maybe this will improve in 2025?)… but, as alternative dawn ‘activity’, I really enjoy watching the mornings begin… looking through our living room windows.
We gave up the car 7 years ago and, getting on for 2 years ago, I gave up driving altogether – so buses and trains are now our default modes of transport. Weirdly, I seem to have developed some form of ‘anxiety’ towards travel (I know!).
The world seems to be full of challenges these days (it was probably ever thus)… wars, the climate change, annoying politicians (including TRUMP, of course… plus the likes of Musk and Farage!)… greed, poverty, lack of funding for the NHS, mental health, education and so much more.
But I DO love reflecting back on the things that have happened over the previous twelve months and, each year, it’s a reminder that there WILL be some very special things that they will happen in the coming year – even though, at this moment, I don’t know what 2025 will bring. No doubt there will be some sad stuff too (two very dear friends died this year)… and perhaps encounters we feel ill-equipped to face? In such times, families and friendships will, once again, see us through.
For us as a family, it’s been another good year (despite life’s challenges)… and we continue to count our blessings.
I wish you (and all yours) a very happy, healthy and (hopefully) peaceful 2025.

december 2024 books...

Babel (RF Kuang): This is our Storysmith book group’s annual big-book-to-be-read-over-the-Christmas-holidays book (it’s 544 pages long!). It’s set in Oxford in 1836 (just a little before my time there!); Babel is the university’s prestigious Royal Institution of Translation – a “tower from which all the power of the Empire flows”. Robin Swift (orphaned in Canton and brought to England by a mysterious guardian) is one of its students. At times (lots of times), it felt a little like reading Philip Pullman (‘The Golden Compass’ etc). Translation is the key to magic, as Kuang uses her genre (she was born in China, before moving to the US aged 4) to sharpen a historical investigation into colonisation, learning and power. Babel is the great Oxford translation institute in an alternative version of Victorian England, where translators hold the keys to the British empire. Every device and engineering technique there is, from steam trains to the foundations of buildings, relies on silver bars (complicated isn’t it!) enchanted with ‘match pairs’; words in two different languages that mean similar things, but with a significant gap between them. The bars create the effect of the difference: feelings, noises, speed, stability, colour, and even death. Bright children are taken from all corners of the empire, fluent in Chinese or Arabic, raised in England, and put to work at Babel to translate, thus finding new match pairs and making new magic – only ever used for the benefit of the rich in London, and to the detriment of those the translators must leave behind in their colonised homelands. We follow Robin Swift from his earliest childhood in China, through his time at Babel, and from his hope that translation is a way to bring people together, to the terrible realisation that, in this colonial framework, translation was an act of betrayal. It's an incredibly complicated, ingenious, wonderfully-researched novel written by very intelligent writer (and a translator herself) - with graduate degrees from both Oxford+Cambridge. I can’t do the book any justice in these few lines… but, once I’d got into it, I found it a convincing and gripping tale.
Voice-over (Norman MacCraig): I have to admit that I hadn’t come across MacCaig’s poetry until my good friend Chris had spoken of it. This is a book of comparatively short poems (some 58 of them), published in 1988. MacCaig (1910-96) was born in Edinburgh and was a conscientious objector during World War II. I very much enjoyed his poetry – I loved its succinctness, dark humour, simplicity of language and observation – and I often read them out loud to myself as the mornings emerged. I’ll no doubt delve back into this rather lovely book again over the coming years.
Jeeves And The Feudal Spirit (PG Wodehouse): Once again, I resorted to Wodehouse to try to get away from all the current troubles of the world… All the usual stuff: the author’s wonderful way with words (and dialogue) from a by-gone age; the ridiculous characters (eg. Stilton Cheesewright); the regular misunderstandings; Aunt Delia and her ‘Milady’s Boudoir’ magazine; the Drones Club; the frequent Wooster engagements/unengagements(?); and, of course, Jeeves – who always comes to the rescue, whatever the circumstance… not to mention, in this particular novel, Bertram Wooster’s attempt to grow a moustache. The ultimate comfort reading!
The Birmingham School (ed. Stephen Wildman): This is an exhibition catalogue (published in 1990) of paintings, drawings and prints by Birmingham artists from the city’s Art Gallery. The exhibition itself covered over 200 years of work by the ‘Birmingham School’ (a description I’ve struggled with) and rightly highlights Birmingham’s unique artistic heritage. For me, my main interest was the work produced in the first three (say) decades of the 2oth century. I had a reasonable knowledge (and admiration) of work by the likes of Joseph Southwell (1861-1944); Arthur Gaskin (1862-1928) and Maxwell Armfield (1881-1972), but the catalogue also triggered a desire to find out more about other artists, such as: Bernard Fleetwood-Walker (1893-1963); Alice Coats (1905-1978); Kate Bunce (1856-1927); Gerald Brockhurst (1890-1978); and Harold Holden (1885-1977). As an aside – although I wasn’t particularly taken by his art – one artist’s name made me laugh out loud: HHH Horsley (Hopkins Horsley Hobday Horsley)!!
Some Small Heaven (Ian Adams): Once again, I took my great friend Ian’s book as my spiritual guide through Advent. It explores a path through Advent, Christmas and Epiphany and seeks to discover the light within the darkness of winter through a series of daily reflections.
I’ve been using the book on a daily basis and, despite struggling on my faith journey this year more than most, I’ve once again found it a helpful/challenging way to start each day. I cheated a little immediately after Christmas this time and only continued my daily reflections for a couple more days, rather than to Epiphany. Powerful, beautiful and challenging (as always).
Note: 80 books read in 2024. 

conclave…

I went to the Watershed yesterday afternoon to see Edward Berger’s film ‘Conclave’ (written by Peter Straughan and based on the 2016 novel by Robert Harris) about the election of a new pope.
The film begins with Cardinal Thomas Lawrence (Ralph Fiennes) arriving at the pope’s deathbed to find other ambitious cardinals there before him and who have already started manoeuvring to be considered the next pontiff. It transpires that Lawrence has been deeply burdened by his own crisis of faith and by a suspicion that there are dark forces at work within the Catholic Church but, sadly (for him), the pope dies without granting Lawrence his wish to resign as dean of the College of Cardinals, and also without being able to reveal what he knew of dark secrets concerning one or more of these candidates… which means that a corrupt figure may be about to become pope. To complicate matters, after the pope’s sudden death, Lawrence (as dean of the College of Cardinals) finds himself saddled with the onerous responsibility of overseeing the assembly of all the cardinals of the Catholic church to elect the new pope.

The film is entirely fictional and yet, in many ways, feels thoroughly believable. On the face of it, the elaborate, archaic election process might seem a relatively boring subject for a 120-minute film and yet, with all the manoeuvring and political ambition, I found it marvellously tense and utterly compelling.

It’s beautifully-filmed and, as one would expect in such a subject matter, bathed with resplendent surroundings and extravagant vestments.
Ralph Fiennes is quite, quite brilliant as the self-effacing Cardinal Lawrence – who finds himself as unofficial cheerleader for one of the progressive cardinals in the voting rounds, but, to his dismay, he sees his own vote count increasing each time. Should he have the humility to accept such a potential destiny? At the same time, he is aware of corrupt conspiracies which, with the burden of authority, he is unable to expose…
I think I’ll leave it there… (*no spoilers!*).
I thought it was a marvellous film and think you should see it.

november/december 2024 books…

Thank You Jeeves (PG Wodehouse): I needed to escape from the horrors of grotesque Trump’s re-election and so resorted to some more Wodehouse for my sanity. In this novel (first published in 1934), we have Jeeves resigning after Bertie Wooster had taken up playing the banjolele… then Bertie disappearing to the country for respite as a guest of his ‘old chum’ Chuffy. But, of course, it all gets very complicated – with the arrival of Bertie’s ex-fiancée and her formidable father… and muddled marriage proposals, property purchases and the local police. Not one of Wodehouse’s best (IMHO), but ridiculously and amusingly concocted… and, of course, the wonderful, clipped dialogue and glorious characters. Tragically, Trump was still president-elect when I finished the book…
Orbital (Samantha Harvey): This is a truly extraordinary book - almost certainly my book of 2024 (let alone the Booker Prize winner). Six astronauts rotate in their spacecraft 250 miles above the earth; each day, they circle the earth 16 times – 16 sunrises, 16 sunsets, 16 days and 16 nights. The novel is full of attention to detail, description and imagination. It touches on the lives of the astronauts – separated from the world and yet constantly being reminded of its splendour and captivating magic. Hard to imagine how Harvey managed to convey it all from her desk in Wiltshire, simply imagining what it’s like being in space when she’s never been there. It’s a beautiful, hopeful book… so much packed into a mere 136 pages. There were lots of passages and descriptions that I needed to re-read slowly just because of their magnificence.
It’s the kind of book that, in part, silently screams out at some of the outrageous things we’re doing to our world and the reckless consequences of ignoring all the warnings. But, crucially, it’s also something of a love story for the planet. You need to read Harvey’s awe-inspiring book.
A Thousand Mornings (Mary Oliver): I never tire of Oliver’s poetry. This is a book of 36 of her poems (first published in 2012) and I’ve been using them as part of my early morning ‘quiet time’ of reflection. Like me, she was essentially a morning person and so, with her morning walks along the shore and my observations from my ‘thinking seat’ staring out of the window, I feel we have something of a connection (albeit that hers sound far more glamorous than mine!).
Killing Time (Alan Bennett): This is a novella about the residents of an upmarket care home during the pandemic. It’s the kind of book you read slowly to yourself and yet can constantly hear Bennett’s voice narrating the story to you. It focuses on the residents of Hill Topp House, a self-consciously upmarket establishment that makes the promise to potential clients of such things as a ‘choir on special occasions’ and a ‘glass of dry sherry’. Mrs McBryde runs the establishment in something of a high-handed manner - threatening her “community” with banishment to “down the hill” to Low Moor, a more basic council facility, in the event of rule-breaking. Of course, in Mrs McBryde’s belief, the virus (when it comes) would not afflict Hill Topp – the place is too rarefied for common germs, “the wind would take care of them”. Only time would tell… It’s a beautiful, funny, unsentimental, poignant story… and, of course, in Bennett’s rather wonderful way, full of characters and unique observations.
Semi-Detached London (Alan A Jackson): My friend Dru recommended I read this book (published in 1973). It provides a fascinating account of the capital’s “suburban development, life and transport, 1900-39”. I think what surprised me most was the constant references to ‘class’. Typically: “North of the Thames, the working-class and lower middle-class areas which had seen such rapid growth in the late 19^th century were now entering the final stages of their development”. After WW1, there had been an unprecedented growth in speculative building around London “until the needs of all but the lowest income groups were met”. But the book argues that the outer layer of London which emerged was “neither well-balanced in its constituents or visually and psychologically satisfying”. Jackson identifies (among other things) the lack of experience within the local authorities to plan, co-ordinate or design schemes and, in particular, pay due attention to the provision of transport facilities. I read the book pretty quickly and probably skimmed over lots of stuff that demanded much more of my attention… but, hey! Nevertheless, an interesting book.

blitz…

I went along to the Watershed again yesterday to see Steve McQueen’s film about the blitz bombing on London in 1940, featuring the always excellent Saoirse Ronan (Rita - ridiculously beautifully-dressed throughout despite all the bombing and destruction!) as the single mother living with her father (rather wonderfully played by Paul Weller!). Her bi-racial son (played by Elliott Heffernan) is evacuated, only to run away in a perilous bid to find her (Rita’s Grenadian partner was harassed by racists and deported).

The film deals with some somewhat unexplored issues: the casually racist attitude to people of colour by British wartime authorities; and ditto their attitudes towards the working class in London’s East End. Of course, there are also the predictable (but impressive) scenes of destruction and suffering, blackouts and shelters, women factory workers and ARP wardens… and, of course, plenty of ‘Blitz spirit’.
Lots of impressive stuff but, for me, I have to say that I found the film a little disappointing (especially given it was written, produced and directed by McQueen). I’d even say it frequently felt somewhat contrived and artificial. A film to watch on the telly on a drab Sunday afternoon maybe but, from my perspective, nothing more. Sorry.

october/november 2024 books…

The Sunshine Corpse (Max Murray): Another of my recent Penguin Crime books from our local Oxfam Bookshop (first published in 1954). A man is found dead in a Florida fruit stall. He was an unpopular man and there are a number of people with good reasons for wishing him dead. One of the people who bore him a grudge is subsequently found dead in the river… the local Sheriff has a difficult case on his hands. The novel is cleverly conceived and yet it left me thinking that the author was just trying to be TOO clever (by half!). The story ends with a flood of conflicting confessions and accusations… which eventually sort themselves out amid much bad feeling. Ultimately disappointing.
The British Museum Is Falling Down (David Lodge): It’s been ages since I read a David Lodge book (my book blog tells me it was 14 years ago!). At the heart of this novel (first published in 1961) is the library at the British Museum where the main character (a post-graduate student working on his thesis with a young wife young children) works away – although frequently being pre-occupied or distracted by other matters. His home life seems dominated by the prospect of his wife being perpetually pregnant or of unstinting abstinence (while working through all the permitted methods of birth control allowed by the Catholic Church)… or about the need for more sex or better-quality sex! It’s typical Lodge – always entertaining and amusing but also, at times, bordering on farce (which isn’t exactly my cup of tea).
Mother Country (Jeremy Harding): I picked up this memoir from the £4 Bookshop (first published in 2006). It’s essentially a story about two mothers. Harding was born in 1952 (in London) and, when he was a child, his adoptive mother told him he’ been adopted. As he got older, he wondered about the identity of his biological parents and eventually embarked on a quest to find them… but also learn more about his adoptive parents (by this time his adoptive father had died and mother was in a home struggling with dementia) and how little he knew about them. It’s an account of his often difficult and frustrating journey into his past and the slipperiness of memory. It’s a compelling story set within the social fabric of Britain in the 1950s and 60s.
Down By The River (Edna O’Brien): O’Brien died earlier this year (aged 93). I’ve always found her a compelling, fascinating writer. This novel, published in 1996 is an unsparing story of 14 year-old girl who becomes pregnant by her father. Her mother had died a premature and painful death and the girl has nowhere to turn and is unable to tell anyone of her situation (she also tries to drown herself). A neighbour offers to help her and arranges for them to travel to England where she can get a legal abortion… but she is pressured to return before it can take place. Back home, she faces the wrath of opponents of abortion and sympathetic support from liberals. The weeks go by, amid agony and uncertainty before nature provides an answer in its own grim fashion. Apparently, the novel is loosely based on a real 1992 case of a 14-year-old Irish girl, said to have been a rape victim, whose struggles with the legal system caused a nationwide examination of conscience in Ireland. I found it a completely enthralling, albeit hard-hitting and disturbing, story… beautifully written.
Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit (Jeanette Winterson): This book (first published in 1985) tells the story of Jeanette - adopted and brought up by her mother as one of God's chosen people (her mother was a maniacal Pentecostal Christian… something of an understatement!). Keen and passionate, Jeanette seems destined for life as a missionary, but then she falls for one of her converts. At sixteen, Jeanette decides to leave the church, her home and her family, for the young woman she loves. It’s a semi-autobiographical novel and based on Winterson's life growing up in Accrington, Lancashire. It’s beautifully-written, innovative, hard-hitting, tender and, frequently, wonderfully funny. I really enjoyed it.

steve knightley at the beacon lantern…

I first saw Steve Knightley/Show of Hands more than 20 years ago. I certainly remember seeing him with my brother at the Bromyard Folk Festival in 2004 when he was appearing with Phil Beer in their ‘Show of Hands’ guise. Together, they are one of the leading forces in British folk (Peter Gabriel has described them as “one of the great English bands”). Knightley has aged at about the same rate as me (he’s 5 years younger!) – but he can still write songs, play lots of instruments and sing, superbly (unlike moi!).
Last night, he performed solo and was absolutely excellent. His songs frequently talk about the hardships and realities of West Country life – the sadness and the struggles; the declining industries; the broken lives; and the ordinary people – but also about love, families and the beauty of the natural world. He’s a wonderful story-teller and he’s a very funny man.
It was a really brilliant evening – played to a virtually full-house in the Lantern Hall… and with an audience of fans who knew most of his songs and didn’t hold back whenever they were encouraged to join in (which happened frequently!).
On a really difficult day (ie. trying to cope with the Trump vote!), it somehow restored my faith in humanity and decency.
Photo: Steve Knightley performing last night.

small things like these…

I went to the Watershed again this afternoon (although I seem to have gone to the cinema far less during 2024), this time to see an interpretation of Claire Keegan’s book ‘Small Things Like These’ – adapted by Eileen Walsh and directed by Tim Mielants. Keegan is one of my very favourite authors and I read this novella almost two years ago (I’ve read six of her books to date). It was certainly in my top five books of 2023. Quite brilliant.
Cillian Murphy plays the part of Bill Furlong (quite wonderfully) - born out of wedlock, born into shame, but now has a home and a family and a job hauling truckloads of coal around town in County Wexford. Life is tough, but bearable. The church is a dominant force within the town and, in due course, his daughters will be receiving their education courtesy of the church.
It’s a tale of hardship, self-sacrifice and decency.
Delivering coal to the church laundry (one of Ireland’s notorious Magdalene Laundries: the church’s homes for unwed mothers who were made to work in an atmosphere of wretchedness and shame and had their babies taken away and sold to foster parents), he walks straight in and sees the terrified girls for himself. He realises that the scene probably resembles his own poor unmarried mother’s experience (she was fortunate to have been taken in by a wealthy local woman). The church sister is aware that Bill is witness to scenes that could damage her/the church, but she has his daughters’ educational future in her hands…
Like the book, the film is a powerful, haunting and sobering depiction of the utterly shameful time for the Catholic Church and all those who suffered through its actions.
I urge you to see this excellent film (AND, particularly, read Keegan’s brilliantly impressive novella).
PS: Today was the Watershed’s first screening of the film and it had originally been scheduled to be shown in the small/tiny Cinema 2. Fortunately, the powers-that-be recognised that advanced ticket sales were such as to require the screening to be relocated in Cinema 1 (which was virtually a capacity audience this afternoon). Well done them!

october 2024 books…

Duncan Grant+The Bloomsbury Group (Douglas Blair Turnbaugh): For some time now, I’ve been fascinated by the artists and work that have come out of the Bloomsbury Group/Charleston – particularly Vanessa Bell and Duncan Grant (1885-1978). Turnbaugh’s book (published in 1987) provides not so much an analysis of his art, but something of his life and relationships (and there were SEVERAL – involving both sexes but, more often than not, men). Grant was a talented painter and designer of textiles, pottery, theatre sets, and costumes. He became involved in the Bloomsbury Group, where he made many great friends including Vanessa Bell. He would eventually live with Bell (though she was a married woman), who became pregnant with his child in 1918. Following the birth, their relationship was mainly domestic and creative, but they continued to live together for more than 40 years (mainly at Charleston). They often painted in the same studio together, praising and critiquing each other's work. Turnhaugh knew Grant and spent many hours interviewing him (and with Grant’s friend Paul Roche) – with Grant providing a wealth of personal stories (many of which are included in the book). As can be gathered from this eulogy at his funeral, Grant was clearly a well-loved man: “an artist, generous and whole-hearted in his response to all that could engage with his genius, richly endowed to express his many-splendoured vision. As we call to mind his art, we remember also his gift for making and keeping friends, suffusing his own life and theirs with a spontaneous, unselfconscious delight in all things of man’s making or imagining…”. A fascinating book.
The Empusium (Olga Tokarczuk): This is our next Storysmith bookgroup book. I’d previously read (and greatly enjoyed) her “Drive Your Plow Over The Bones Of The Dead” book 5 years ago (plus a stage performance at the Bristol Old Vic last year). This book is set in September 1913 and it’s described as a ‘Health Resort Horror Story’. A young Pole suffering from tuberculosis arrives at a ‘Guesthouse for Gentlemen’, a health resort in the Silesian mountains. Every evening the residents gather to imbibe the hallucinogenic local liqueur and debate the great issues of the day… but, meanwhile, disturbing things are happening in the guesthouse and the surrounding hills… someone (or something) seems to be watching. In the words of the book’s cover: “Little does the newcomer realise, as he tries to unravel both the truths within himself and the mystery of the sinister forces beyond, that they have already chosen their next target”. I found it a beautifully-crafted, haunting and disturbing book. It’s not particularly long (326 pages), but I thought that the first 200 or so pages were just too pedestrian (a ‘slow reveal’ taken a bit too far, in my view). However, all becomes clear(er!) as the book comes a gripping conclusion. Did I enjoy it? Well, I found its pace somewhat frustratingly slow at times but, ultimately, a compelling book.
The Towers Of Trebizond (Rose Macaulay): This is our next Blokes book (first published in 1956). It’s an absurd novel (although much of it reads like a travel journal) involving three main characters – Aunt Dot, her niece Laurie (who’s also the narrator) and Father Chantry (note: a camel also plays a starring role!) – who set out on an expedition to Turkey (and beyond) to “explore the possibility of establishing a High Anglican mission there”. On the way, they meet various characters (magicians, young British travel writers, lovers etc). According to Wikipedia, the book is partly autobiographical (deciding which parts could be an amusing task). It’s a strange, and yet, captivating book – a mixture of fantasy, high comedy, plus ‘digs’ about love, sex, politics, life, class, religion and church buildings. There are LOTS of amusing/cutting references to the Anglican church and belief generally (which I found myself agreeing with on numerous occasions!)… as well as some depressing reminders (especially given the current horrors taking place in Israel/Palestine) of Britain’s historical role in the Middle East. But, thankfully, lots of high farce along the way – including Laurie purchasing an ape and deciding to teach it chess, croquet, snakes+ladders, tennis and, of course, driving a car! All in all, an unusual and entertaining book.
Egon Schiele: Masterpieces of Art (Rosalind Ormiston): I’ve again been somewhat obsessed by Schiele’s art over recent weeks. Austrian artist Schiele (1890-1918) died at the age of just 28 (as a result of the Spanish flu pandemic). He was a controversial individual (and perhaps not a particularly ‘nice’ person?) but, in his brief career, he was a prolific artist – creating over 3,000 works on paper and some 300 paintings. I love that he painted both figures and buildings with a brash boldness (raw, sometimes shocking, beauty of the human form… and brightly coloured, jumbled façades and landscapes). He was clearly influenced by his mentor Klimt but, for me, there’s also a hint of Mackintosh and Modigliani in his work. The book provides a useful insight into his life and work – as well as a comprehensive collection of colour illustrations of his paintings.
The Half Hunter (John Sherwood): First published in 1961 (another green cover Penguin Crime book from the Oxfam bookshop!). An unusual thriller with 17-year-old Jim Marsden (about to start at Oxford University), in his bright yellow, pre-war Austin Seven car, playing the part of the sleuth. It’s certainly not a run-of-the-mill crime book: a disappearing young woman; rebellious youths with too much money (and rich, powerful parents); an unsolved murder; and several suspects. Lots of imagined conversations and scenarios as Jim speculates on the true course of events. A clever plot and a quick and satisfying read.

oysterband+june tabor at the beacon…

I went along to the Beacon last night to see the Oysterband in their “A Long, Long Goodbye” tour, alongside June Tabor. After 45 years on the road, legendary folk rock collective Oysterband are hanging up their touring boots and concluding their ‘live’ career (whatever that means). 
I last saw them perform, again alongside June Tabor, at St George’s 13 years ago (according to my ancient blog!)… and, of course, we’re ALL getting older! Yes, just like me, they’d all aged and yet, they projected a wonderful celebratory spirit and acknowledgement of their respective musical journeys – the people they’d met, the stories they’d heard, the experiences they’d encountered, the songs they’d sung.
Yes, they’d all aged. Tabor is a year older than me and somewhat frailer than she was in 2011… but her voice has maintained its powerful, brooding majesty which, last night, I found quite moving. Likewise, John Jones still has a wonderful voice and a lovely warm, on-stage presence. Last night obviously involved lots of old familiar songs (the audience were in good voice too!) but, among the highlights for me was the cover of Joy Division’s “Love Will Tear Us Apart”.
They’re coming to the end of their time of performing after 45 years on the road. There were lots of memories, words of gratitude and much laughter. It was a brilliant, quite emotional, evening… and one that I will long remember.
Photo: From last night’s performance.

three cane whale at st george’s (again)…

Hannah and I went to a Three Cane Whale concert at St George’s last night. My blog tells me that it’s more than 10 years since I first attended one of their gigs (and I’ve seen them/Paul Bradley perform perhaps a dozen times since then).
I first came across their music when I was working at the pop-up shop at The Architecture Centre in November/December 2013 (one of their songs was on our regular playlist).
They really are an extraordinary, ridiculously-talented group of musicians (and very nice blokes too); they often like to associate their music with ‘Place’ and have recorded a number of their pieces ‘on location’ – in barns, old chapels, on hillsides and even next to main roads!
The three musicians (Alex Vann, Pete Judge and Paul Bradley) play an incredible, eclectic range of instruments. Last night’s concert was absolutely beautiful (no surprises there) and focused on music from their sixth album, “Hibernacula”.
In a broken world, it was just so lovely to know that beauty, joy and peace still exist. Hannah and I both felt we needed this!
Photo: From our seats in the gallery at last night’s concert.
PS: 3CW always seem able to have rather wonderful ‘support acts’ and last night was no exception… last night Boss Morris were excellent! 

september-october 2024 books…

Wide Sargasso Sea (Jean Rhys): I remember starting this book (first published in 1966) many, many years ago but gave up after only a few pages. I recently picked up a copy while we were staying at Alice’s and read it in a couple of days. The novel, initially set in Jamaica, opens a short while after the Slavery Abolition Act 1833 abolished slavery in the British Empire in August 1834. It’s a ‘postcolonial novel’ that serves as sort of a hypothetical prequel to Jane Eyre, the novel details the tragic decline of a young woman, Antoinette Cosway, who is sold into marriage to an English gentleman, Mr Rochester. Rhys portrays Cosway amidst a society so driven by hatred, so skewed in its sexual relations, that it can literally drive a woman out of her mind. It’s a tough, compelling read.
The Matisse Stories (AS Byatt): My friend Tony recommended this book (good man!). The book (first published in 1993) consists of three short stories and pay homage to the artist Matisse. Each of them offer verbal portraits of apparently ordinary lives driven by pain and disquiet. At first, they begin on a deceptively simple, almost cosy way: a middle-aged woman having her hair cut; a mother trying to work at home while she waits for the doctor to check her son's chicken pox; and a woman meeting a colleague for lunch at the Chinese restaurant she regularly patronises. But darker forces emerge or, as one reviewer put it: “Byatt is adept at rendering disintegration in a series of more or less macabre, violent and comical set-pieces”. I really enjoyed the book and thought Byatt’s writing was rather beautiful.
The Outrun (Amy Liptrot): This is our next Storysmith bookgroup selection (which I first read in 2020 – and decided it was one of my ‘books of the year’)(I haven’t changed my mind). It’s a beautiful, lyrical, brutally-honest memoir. At the age of 30, Liptrot finds herself ‘washed up’ back home on Orkney. The previous ten years of her life had been an utter nightmare; she left Orkney, went south, ended up in London and started a downward spiral of hellish alcohol addiction. She lost jobs, a boyfriend she loved, her health and self-respect – and ended up in rehab, with her psyche teetering on the edge of the abyss (I couldn’t see how anyone could survive what she had been through). So, Liptrot returned home (she briefly tried a couple of times before without success). She was alcohol-free, but an absolute mess. She retreated to the ‘outrun’ (the name given to a rough pasture on her parents’ farm) and, very slowly, thanks to her amazing resolve and determination, her life is gradually restored and re-formed. For a time, she works on her father’s farm then gets a job on a survey of the endangered corncrake (which immediately set me back with my own memories of the corncrakes of Iona!), and eventually she retreats to the tiny island of Papa Westray, off Orkney. There she walks the hills, goes wild swimming, tracks the wildlife, stares at the skies and discovers a new meaning for her life. Thanks to the internet, she constantly learns new things – astronomy, rock formations, history and the like… and, crucially (and wonderfully), she’s remained sober for two years (and resolved to being sober the rest of her life). She writes beautifully. It’s an incredibly brave, eloquent and hopeful book. I loved it all over again… and, now, it’s been made into a film (starring one of my favourite actors, Saoirse Ronan) – which, much to my huge relief, doesn’t let the book down!
Raffles (EW Hornung): First published in 1899 (my copy: 1950). Wikipedia describes Raffles as a ”gentleman thief” - living at the Albany, a prestigious address in London, playing cricket for the Gentlemen of England and supporting himself by carrying out ingenious burglaries. Raffles has Harry "Bunny" Manders – a former schoolmate to help him. It’s a bit like Holmes and Watson in reverse. Fascinating in theory, but I actually found this book of short stories unremarkable, not particularly clever and, frankly, rather boring.
Akenfield (Ronald Blythe): I’ve started ‘gently’ reading Blythe’s wonderful book ‘Next To Nature’ (a year’s observations, gossip and stories compiled about his Akenfield village home on the Suffolk/Essex border), but have been determined to try to read it slowly - on a monthly basis (January, February etc) in the way the book has been set out. But I also felt somewhat frustrated not to be able to continue to immerse myself in Blythe’s wonderful prose… so ended up reading this book (first published in 1969) about his account/portrait of modern rural life in his village, compiled during the course of 1967 – its inhabitants (ex-soldiers, farm labourers, district nurses, teachers etc etc), their stories, their experiences, their hardships and their joys. It’s a beautiful, fascinating and frequently moving book. Highly recommended.

the outrun...

I went to the Watershed this afternoon to see Nora Fingscheidt’s film based on Amy Liptrot’s 2018 book ‘The Outrun’ – an unflinching adaptation of her personal story of alcohol addiction.
I first read the book in 2020 (and I’ve just finished re-reading it - as it happens to have been chosen as my Storysmith bookgroup’s next book), absolutely loved it and just hoped that the film wouldn’t come as a huge let-down. Thankfully, it didn’t!
It was excellent. Obviously, in the manner of such matters, there were things both added to and omitted from the film… but that didn’t fundamentally detract from it.
After a decade away in London, 29-year-old Rona (played by the brilliant Saoirse Ronan) returns home to the Orkney Islands. By this time, she was alcohol-free, but an absolute mess after her pitiful experiences in London – where she’d lost jobs, a boyfriend she loved, her health and her self-respect… and ended up in re-hab, with her psyche teetering on the edge of the abyss. She retreats to the ‘outrun’ (the name given to a rough pasture on her parents’ farm) and, very slowly, thanks to her amazing resolve and determination, her life is gradually restored and re-formed. The film successfully portrays the scary hopelessness of addiction alongside the joyful beauty of nature.
It’s a powerful, unflinching, scary, eloquent… but, ultimately, hopeful and uplifting story which has been impressively adapted for cinema audiences.
I absolutely loved it.
Photo: Saoirse Ronan and Amy Liptrot (from Liptrot’s FB page) taken at the film’s premiere on Orkney.
PS: When I lived on Iona for 2 months in 2012, I regularly used to hear Corncrakes (you need to have seen the film!) - and even saw one of them on two occasions!

lee…

Moira and I went along to the Watershed this morning (yes, I know!) to see Ellen Kuras’s film about the model-turned-war-photographer Lee Miller.
It’s a tough, but compelling, watch…
Kate Winslet is brilliant in the role of the American photographer Miller, working as a war correspondent for Vogue during WW2. Along with her friend and colleague, Life magazine photographer David Scherman (Andy Samberg), she was one of the very first civilians to bear witness to the atrocities of the Nazi concentration camps at Buchenwald and Dachau.
I was aware of Miller’s photographic career and legacy, but didn’t know that her son only discovered her file of photographs hidden away in the loft of their home after her death in 1977 (over recent years, Miller’s son and granddaughter have endeavoured to keep her memory alive).
There were some scenes that I felt were a bit ‘exaggerated’… but (what do I know!) were vindicated in the closing credits – which showed ‘stills’ from the film alongside photographs taken by Miller that absolutely endorsed what had actually happened.
It’s a remarkable, sobering film… brilliantly acted and depressingly highlighting the exclusion of women/attitudes towards women during WW2.
PS: Winslet chain-smoked CONTINUOUSLY during the film… I just hope they weren’t ‘proper’ fags or else the insurance company might have to pay out bigtime!!

the songs of joni michell at st george’s…

Joni Mitchell has been my musical idol for over 66 years.
I love her music with a passion and many of the songs take me back to my early college days… but, sadly, I’ve never seen her perform ‘live’ (one of my biggest regrets) – and, clearly, that’s not going to change.
Last November, she celebrated her 80^th birthday and there was a sell-out concert (curated by Lail Arad) given in her honour at London’s Roundhouse… and this led to demands for further shows/UK tour.
Last night’s concert at St George’s was one of the resulting gigs.
Ru first spotted the concert blurb a few months ago and so it was agreed that it would be lovely for our Bristol-based daughters, Ru+Hannah, plus Moira and me to get together for an evening’s musical celebration (they’re lovely like that! xx).

We didn’t know any of the female-dominated line-up (apparently all celebrated singer-songwriters in their own right - Jesca Hoop, Lail Arad, Olivia Chaney, Rachael Dadd and Julia Turner) and so it could have been a very disappointing evening… but, fortunately, it wasn’t. It’s obviously nowhere near the same as seeing Mitchell perform the songs herself, but the evening proved to be an excellent celebration of her iconic music (and St George’s was full).
Lots of musical memories were duly evoked and, fortunately from my perspective, most of my ‘absolute favourite songs’ were performed.
Soft man that I am, I was close to tears when they sang ‘Both Sides Now’ to conclude the show.
A lovely evening.
Photo: Final song performed by all the artists plus members of a local choir.

last home game of the season…

It’s Gloucestershire’s last home game of the season and so I went along to the first day of what, supposedly, is a four-day match against Sussex. After their weekend exploits, Glocs might be well be T20 Champions but, back in the County Championship, they continued to struggle in the traditional form of the game.
Winning the toss and batting first on a beautiful, sunny day, Glocs were all out for a paltry 109 by 2.15pm. Sussex (who are currently top of Division 2) responded pretty effectively and ended the first day 149-4 wickets.
For part of the morning session, I found myself sitting next to one of the Sussex bowling coaches, James Kirtley (former Sussex and England pace bowler). I hadn’t a clue who he was(!) and it was only in the course of our conversation that I discovered his role in the Sussex set-up… but it was absolutely fascinating listening to him. He talked about all the detailed analysis that they undertook to ascertain detailed information about a batter’s weaknesses and strengths (REALLY detailed stuff, like batter X had been out LBW in 12% of his innings; or 18% of his dismissals were catches to wicket-keeper or slips etc etc) and how all the bowlers (and fielders) were coached to be acutely aware of such stuff. Even as we watched the cricket, he pointed out one of the weaknesses of a Glocs batter… and, sure enough, he ended up being caught in exactly the way the coach had predicted! Obviously, I passed on my own advice to him based on YEARS of experience… I feel sure he was grateful.
Once again, I don’t think this Championship game will last the scheduled four days!
Photo: The ground wasn’t exactly full to bursting as the morning session got underway!

september 2024 books…

Letters To My Grandchildren (Tony Benn): I seem to be going through a phase of re-reading books (I first read this in 2012; first published in 2009). An encouraging book – idealistic, inevitably political and hugely affectionate – comprising 39 letters to his grandchildren (together with a lovely postscript “The Daddy Shop” – an invented story of his). When he wrote it, his ten grandchildren ranged from 31 to 13 years in age (which means they now must be 46 to 28!); when I first read it in 2012, our six grandchildren ranged from 6 to 1 years of age (and are now 18 to 12). Even if you didn’t altogether agree with his political views, you can’t help but appreciate his constant curiosity and zest for life. Some really insightful stuff – especial about war, political power and the environment. He died in 2014, aged 88… a good man.
Wilt On High (Tom Sharpe): It’s been a very long time since I first read this – probably approaching 40 years (first published in 1984)! I’ve read a lot of Sharpe’s books over the years and this one is fairly typical in its completely over-the-top, farcical and hysterical humour (with a fair portion of vulgarity and sex thrown into the mix!). Henry Wilt is a Liberal Studies lecturer at the Fenland College of Arts and Technology; he’s married to Eva and they have gifted, quarrelling quad daughters. There’s talk of drug dealing at the Tech (a student is found dead) and, completely unfairly, Wilt becomes the target of suspicion. He also, for his sins, teaches weekly at the local prison and at the nearby US airbase; alarm bells sound in both organisations and Wilt is at the centre of the resulting investigations… Inventive and frequently very funny.
Why I Wake Early (Mary Oliver): Another re-read (I first read this in 2016)… which I’m using as part of my early morning routine (Oliver and I both wake up early!). I love Oliver’s poetry. She has a natural gift for conveying the wonder of the ordinary… although she focusses on ‘creatures’ a little/much too much for my taste! But I do love the fact that she sees (and celebrates) things that most people might never notice. Looking, seeing, reflecting, celebrating the simple things in life. Another beautiful book.
Vanessa Bell: Portrait Of The Bloomsbury Artist (Frances Spalding): Yet another re-read (previously read in July 2021)… but I’ve been looking at her art quite a lot recently. In fact, there’s been an exhibition of her work at The Courtauld during the Summer/early Autumn – which, sadly, I might not be able to get to. I absolutely loved this excellent biography (first published in 1983 and re-published in 2016). I’ve read a lot of Bloomsbury-related stuff over recent years and been particularly drawn to the paintings by Vanessa Bell and Duncan Grant. This book provides fascinating insights into the work and lives of both of them (and the Bloomsbury group) - with Bell becoming something of a mother figure for the whole group and a catalyst for much of what the group came to represent. She walked an emotional tightrope in her relationships with her husband (Clive Bell), ex-lover (Roger Fry) and lover (Duncan Grant) and enjoyed a bohemian lifestyle of sexual freedom, fierce independence and honesty. As a painter, Bell was as radical as her sister Virginia Woolf the writer (Woolf described Bell as ‘the Saint’ for her practical sense of duty and organisation). The book has been compiled from letters and diaries (without letters, how much would have been lost!) and full of amusing and intriguing details. This extract sums up Bell beautifully: “Vanessa continued to follow an independent course in life with a sense of purpose that others envied. Vanessa ‘takes her own line in London life’, Virginia (Woolf) observed; ‘ refuses to be a celebrated painted; buys no clothes; sees whom she likes as she likes; and altogether leads an indomitable sensible and very sublime existence’.” A wonderful, intriguing biography… which I really enjoyed re-reading.
Bullets For The Bridegroom (David Dodge): Another Penguin crime novel bought at the Oxfam bookshop (first published in 1948)(apparently it’s the third ‘Whit’ Whitney book?). Set in Reno, Nevada at the end of WW2 (between VE and VJ Day), James and Kitty Whitney have just got married and are on honeymoon, but find themselves sucked into the somewhat scary world of espionage, a questionable night-club/casino, disguised government agents, mistaken identities… and murder (the person who was going to marry them gets murdered). The FBI are desperately trying to track a secret wireless station. It’s a pacey, sinister tale which builds in intensity and ends in a large-scale gunfight involving enemy agents but, for me, I found the plot rather unconvincing and disappointing (I could imagine the author fancying it becoming a blockbuster film!), the storyline dated (perhaps not surprisingly!) and, ultimately, predictable.    

school service corps (in the early 1960s)... but not for me.

Bizarrely, I recently came across a photograph of an earth mound/retaining wall structure they use on shooting ranges and it immediately conjured up memories of my time at grammar school in Birmingham. We had our own firing range(!) in the 'playground' - consisting of a high brick wall, with battered earth in front to house the targets (we used the firing range as one of our playground ‘goalmouths’!), together with its own fully-equipped armoury on school premises (complete with rifles, bayonets and bullets)!!
I was born just four years after the end of the war and it’s easy to forget how much impact the war still had in those years of my youth.
The school’s cadet corps (Army/Navy/RAF) was taken EXTREMELY seriously; school masters used to wear their service uniforms once a week on service corps days. Each year, the school’s cadet corps had a large parade – they marched (complete with a full band of drummers and buglers) from the school to the sports ground off Wood Lane, three miles away… and they were always led by the Divinity master (and Army officer!) who rode a huge white horse (I know!).
There was an expectation for all boys to sign up for the Cadet Corps and I think most probably did. But NOT our Form. I was in the ‘Remove Stream’ at school – we were in the ‘fast stream’ earmarked to take our ‘O’ Levels in 4 years instead of 5. When it came to the time for signing up (in 1962/63, when we were perhaps 14 years old?), absolutely NO ONE in our class volunteered to ‘join up’. The assigned ‘Cadet Corps Masters’ were incredulous… “never in the history of the school has this ever happened” (or words to that effect). I recall the ‘Top Dog’ Corps Master coming to lecture us… it was our DUTY… we were the school’s future Cadet Corps OFFICERS for goodness sake (implying that, as the ‘bright’ ones, we were required to pull the others ‘into shape’). It had absolutely no effect… none of us joined up. 

It’s something I look back on with a certain pride… you might think our actions were inappropriate, unwarranted or misguided but, like the climate change school pupils of today, I think we were making our own small statement… and, naïve as it might be, I’m very pleased that we did.

august 2024 books...

Redhead By The Side Of The Road (Anne Tyler): This novel is essentially about ‘roads not taken’… fortysomething Micah runs his own, very modest, ‘Tech Hermit’ business - fixing computer problems for old ladies in the neighbourhood and has a second day-job as apartment caretaker and general odd-job man. He lives rent-free, alone, keeps himself to himself, goes for early morning runs, maintains an unchanging cleaning regime and has a long-term relationship with a teacher girlfriend. Two things happen: the disaffected, fatherless teenage son of Micah’s high-school sweetheart turns up on his doorstep (convinced that Micah might actually be his real father) and his girlfriend is threatened with eviction. Unthinkingly, Micah jokes that she could always sleep in her car and, unsurprisingly, she declares the relationship over… It’s a perceptive novel about someone who has opted out and persistently failed to engage, who’s made a habit of walking away from almost everything. I enjoyed it.
The Summer Book (Tove Jansson): I first read this book 21 years ago (first published in 1972; Jansson died in 2001, aged 86) and thought it was time I revisited it… before the summer ends! An elderly artist and her 6-year-old granddaughter (Sophia) while away a summer together on a tiny island off the gulf of Finland. What I’d forgotten was that the book is a novel (it actually reads like a narrative/log of their time together). Jansson wrote the book a year after her mother’s death and she drew on the things that were most precious to her (her graphic designer/cartoonist mother, her young niece Sophia, and the island home that she built with her brother - Sophia’ father - where she spent so many summers of her life. Jansson spent 5 months each year on the island from 1964-1991). It’s an account of the understated love between an old woman and her grandchild… and it’s quite, quite beautiful, wise and frequently funny. I loved immersing myself into their little world (their candid, sometimes argumentative, conversations between them; the grandmother’s infinite patience; the smart, demanding grandchild; living on a small island). As I finished the book, I was struck by the fact that, when I first read it, I wasn’t a grandfather (now there are 6 grandchildren!)… and just wished that I had the wisdom, patience and humour of the novel’s grandmother! I absolutely loved re-reading this book.
Devotions (Mary Oliver): I love Mary Oliver’s writing. This is a collection of her poetry dating from 1963 to 2015. I first read it at the beginning of 2023 and have spent the past few months gently re-reading it on a daily basis. In many ways – with her beautiful, simple observations of nature and life – I’ve found that Oliver’s poetry has become a treasured companion on my own journey through life (Not all her poetry appeals to me, but I’ve been particularly drawn to her reflective poems written when she was in her mid-/late-seventies) and a constant reminder that we live a truly beautiful world which so many often take for granted.
Ex-Wife (Ursula Parrott): This is our next Storysmith bookgroup selection (“re-discovered gems” from the list of Faber Editions), first published in 1929 – but never before now in the UK. It’s set in New York in 1924; Patricia (the story’s beautiful narrator in her very early 20s) and Peter (handsome husband) live as a ‘thoroughly modern married couple’ – both drink and smoke, both work, both believe in ‘love-outside-marriage’ (except when it doesn’t suit Peter). He ends up pushing for a divorce and she is forced to forge a new life for herself. At a time in the US when the stigma of divorce was fading, the book presents a picture of a ‘new woman’ - one who pursues new vocational, economic, and romantic freedoms. Pat spends her days chasing a career, while her nights were a boozy cocktail of restaurants, speakeasies and sexual encounters… but it’s also a frequently sad story about how women gained some freedoms, but lost other things. It’s a remarkable, entertaining novel that’s a heady mix about marriage, divorce, love affairs, beautiful clothes, lots of alcohol and scandal in the jazz age. I very much enjoyed it (despite its sad encounters) and found it remarkable to reconcile that the book had been written nearly 100 years ago.
Waxwork (Peter Lovesey): A Victorian crime fiction novel I picked up from the Oxfam Bookshop (first published in 1978). The cover describes it as a “Sergeant Cribb Adventure” (surely they could have done better than that!?). DS Cribb (frustratingly for him, he’d remained a sergeant for the past 10 years while some of his contemporaries had, to his mind, ‘earned’ promotions by using the manipulating the system for their own ends) probes the baffling case of an confessed murderess as she awaits, unflustered, the hangman. Is she really guilty? If not, why confess? Then the Home Office is sent a photograph that casts doubt on the confession. Cribb is called in and his investigations produce nothing to ease the minds of the authorities. As he plunges deeper into the relationships and history of the small group connected with the murder, he becomes increasingly suspicious that something very different had actually occurred. Clever plot with cunning twists.

pericles at the rsc...

On Monday evening we went to see the RSC’s production of Shakespeare’s ‘Pericles’ at the Swan Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon (featuring ‘our’ Felix in the roles of Antiochus and Pander). It’s Tamara Harvey’s first production as the Royal Shakespeare Company’s co-artistic director.
It’s a play that isn’t performed all that frequently (it was last staged by the RSC 18 years ago) – perhaps because some believe that it’s only partly by Shakespeare? The plot is complicated and, in somewhat typical ‘Shakespearian’ style, includes shipwrecks, death at sea, royalty, incest, tyranny, three father-daughter relationships, unrecognised relatives, tragedy, humour and pirates!
I thought the play made a rather plodding start (the early acts are generally ascribed to George Wilkins – which might explain things - and not helped, again in my humble opinion(!), by some rather uninspired choreography), but developed impressively subsequently. Alfred Enoch (Pericles) is quite brilliant as Pericles and, as you would imagine at the RSC, the rest of the cast – in their bright pinks, purples and azures - combine to provide impressive support.
I always love going to plays at the RSC (I adore both the Royal Shakespeare and Swan theatres) and this production was no exception.

july-august 2024 books…

Alive, Alive Oh! (Diana Athill): I’m a great admirer of Athill’s writing and have read several of her books. In this one, written in her 97^th year (first published in 2015), she recalls the moments in her life that have sustained her… from vivid memories of her 1920s childhood; her experience of WW2 to stories of travel; her loves; the miscarriage, aged 43, that almost ended her life; and candid, often very funny, reflections of what it’s like to be old.
Doppelganger (Naomi Klein): This is our next Storysmith bookgroup book (theme: non-fiction female authors). Klein began writing this book (several years ago) after people were constantly mistaking her for the conspiracist, Naomi Wolf, but she ends up weaving her way (in the words of book reviewer Paula Lacey) through the world of “anti-vaxxers, wellness influencers and alt-right demagogues, attempting to make sense of the conspiratorial turn in contemporary politics”.Much of what Klein describes was entirely foreign to me (no surprises there!). So much stuff was that initially over my head… QR codes, Gettr, Rumble, Mirror World, diagonalists, Shadow Lands, personal branding?? She clearly regards Steve Bannon and Trump as major ‘concerns’ (HER descriptions are somewhat stronger as she delves into the ecosystem of Wolf, Bannon and Trump!). Things have become far more complicated than in the days of my youth. How the internet has fostered misinformation. The problem in this age of big corporations, climate crisis, Covid lockdowns, online influencers and collapsed trust in mainstream politics and media is that everybody has their suspicions that they are being lied to and manipulated (and, of course, they’re right!). It’s a long book (some 350 pages of small font) and I wonder how many of my bookgroup will have finished it in the month between our gatherings - some of us, (ie. me!) don’t have jobs to go to? It’s wide-ranging in the subjects covered; it’s insightful, academic and complex in content… and, frankly, pretty scary as far as the measures that are already ‘available’ to distort our knowledge, understanding of the world and, ultimately, our politics. Towards the end of the book, she talks about how we might find our way back from the current despair – but I wasn’t altogether convinced! It’s an impressive, compelling, disturbing book.
The Island Of Missing Trees (Elif Shafak): This is our next Blokes’ bookgroup book. Published in 2021, it’s tale of love and division set between postcolonial Cyprus and London, exploring themes of generational trauma and belonging… through different timelines. The story relates to the divided island (the Turkish-controlled north of the island and the Greek-controlled south) and the conflicts of the 1950/60s (I can recall a handful of Greek Cypriot children moved to my junior school in the late 1950s), which eventually resulted in the Turkish invasion of 1974. Kostas and Defne Kazantzakis are young lovers in a painfully divided Cyprus – one Greek and Christian, the other Turkish and Muslim. They subsequently move to England, but continue to pay the emotional legacy of the past. The story continues partly through the eyes of their 16 year-old daughter Ada (who has never been to Cyprus)… and also features a fig tree as one of the book’s main narrators! It’s a love story set against the anger, divisions, hate and brutality of conflict. It’s about immigration, lost lives, memories and coping with the aftermath of history. It reminded me of the awful happenings in the ongoing, present-day Israel-Palestine – with all of its similar brutal legacies. In his review of the book, Robert Macfarlane describes the novel “that rings with… compassion for the overlooked and the under-loved, for those whom history has exiled, excluded or separated”… which I think is a far description. It’s an important, compelling book about generational trauma and I enjoyed reading it. Did I love it? Well, not quite… I found its magical-realist style somewhat off-putting and over-sentimental at times for my taste (and I’m someone who is easily ‘moved’!).
The Universal Christ (Richard Rohr): Many of my ‘religious’ friends regard Rohr as something of a champion when it comes to ‘unlocking’ faith issues. Personally, despite having read a few books of his over the years, he’s never quite ‘done it’ for me. In my ongoing spiritual wilderness (and having listened in to a recent Proost podcast), I decided to give Rohr ‘another go’ and bought this book (second-hand and full of underlined texts from a previous reader!). In it, he explores the following: “We may feel we know who Jesus was, but who was Christ?”. Rohr is a decent, wise, intelligent, articulate man and I actually found sections of the book quite helpful (and I loved that he FREQUENTLY used the words “in my opinion” when making comment - I SO often feel that I’m being preached at in the ‘spiritual’ books I read… or by things that many people say to me). Inevitably, I suppose (well, for me, in my spiritual wilderness), the book is written from the perspective of a Christian ‘believer’ and I frequently found myself shaking my head and saying: “but, hang on, that assumes X or Y…”. But, hey, I was re-reading Mary Oliver’s beautiful poetry book “Devotions” at the same time as this Rohr book… and found that they frequently seemed to be expressing similar things… which, as a huge lover of Oliver’s writing, must say something positive about my attitude towards Rohr’s work.
Call For The Dead (John Le Carré): First published in 1961, this was Le Carré’s first published novel and, obviously therefore, the first to feature secret agent George Smiley. I still find it odd that he was allowed to publish this book while he was still working in British Intelligence (but what do I know?). A Foreign Office civil servant has killed himself and Smiley realises that the powers that be will set him up to take the blame. This is a tense, clever spy novel… which gives a hint of the rather wonderful espionage thrillers Le Carré will go on to write.