My childhood was dominated by memories of The King. Elvis Presley, Aaron to be more precise. My mother was in love. She was smitten with this hip-shaking, breath-taking, king of Rock and Roll. We were the family from The Commitments who could not conceive that there was anything better than the lip-curling kid from Tupelo,... Continue Reading →
L If gale-force Fortune sweeps you off you feet, let it; ride it; and admit defeat. There's no point in resisting; it's too strong - willy-nilly, you'll get swept along. Palladas. Tony Harrrison It was an unseasonably warm October night. The high winds of the midweek had ceased and it was still.... Continue Reading →
The problem with tragedy is that it never has a happy ending. Tragedy ends in death. It starts with a bad decision, leads on to disgrace and downfall, scrapes you through a period of suffering that appears never likely to end before there is a realisation, ‘Fuck, that’s what I did wrong’ or, ‘Fuck, I... Continue Reading →
https://youtu.be/JYNWGI6JvnI Moved me to tears. Such a wonderful video. For anybody that side of the pond, he was a famous footballer, now famous pundit. For me he has become a man of the first order. Field of Dreams.
God wishes men to make love to their wives regularly. It's a duty, a religious observance, so why block the bedroom door? For men of independence, it is every day. For labourers, it is twice a week. For donkey drivers, once a week. For camel drivers, it is once every thirty days. For sailors, it... Continue Reading →
Sunday morning has come around again; much too quickly. It came with two possibilities: a passive, meaningless stretch of twenty-four hours or a moment seized and gently squeezed of its goodness. We chose the latter. After a two year battle with the world, I appear to be content. Contentment is so different from its superficial cousin,... Continue Reading →
There's a woman I know who had an idea for a book. She entered a competition for 'Women of Substance' with this idea, and only this idea. She won and got a book deal. The book was written by both the publishers and her with the publishers doing an inordinate amount of research. She... Continue Reading →
Schmuck is a Yiddish word for penis. Le petite mort is French for little death. Betting is claimed to be better than sex.
I read it every five or six years. I go back to it in the same way one might go back to the place in which you grew up. My affair with everything apocalyptical probably came from King; well some of it anyway. The landscape of my youth was clouded by the coming apocalypse. But... Continue Reading →