Rich Uridge

Rich Uridge

Training company boss by day. Poet and a whole heap of other things by night. Plus the son of a mother who was killed in a care home while living with dementia.
  • Joined: August 18, 2015
  • Articles: 155
  • Comments: 19

CLEVER TREES – Australia

In the second of his programmes celebrating clever trees, Richard Uridge travels to Australia to investigate two apparent paradoxes: the tree that’s wet when it’s dry; and the clever idiot tree. Please note that this and other programmes in the…

CLEVER TREES – Malaysia

Of all the clever things that trees can do telling the time has to be one of the smartest. In this episode Richard Uridge travels to Malaysia in search of the Simpoh, a tree which, according to legend, flowers at precisely…

CLEVER TREES – Washington

In the first of five programmes on arboreal “intelligence” Richard Uridge visits George Washington’s home at Mount Vernon to meet two conjoined holly trees. Please note that this and other programmes in the Clever Trees series were first broadcast on…

This train is for Cardiff Central

“This train is for Cardiff Central.” Blokes in ones and girls in twos. Some in boots and some in shoes. “All tickets please.” Punk with nose ring. Ginger hair. Babe in arms. Collapsed pushchair. “The next station is Stockport.” Kids…

Echo Chamber

His work hangs on the gallery wall. We hear its buzz. We’re in its thrall. Each piece still humming with the thrum. As strong as when the work was done. That clay was soft and took the mould Of artist’s…

Mixing business with pleasure

Dangerous I know, mixing business with pleasure. But here’s a sneak preview of the new ACM Training cycling kit. I’ll be wearing it to promote the company at cycling events over the year and they’ll also be available to buy.…

Crosshands Cottage

Now as the dusk is drawing in Around these weathered cottage walls The birds sing out an evening hymn Their last before the darkness falls And carried on a gentle breeze Which shimmers through the grass and trees A haunting…

Paris in Springtime

ISIL I whisper je t’aime. You shout hate. I hold hands. You hack them off. The stain on my tablecloth is wine. Yours is blood. I bare my throat for a kiss. Not a knife. Strap children to my chest.…

Unheard symphony

He’d forgotten how to listen. To still his knotted mind until the sounds untangled. Untied one by one from the thrum. Listened. Registered. Identified. Appreciated. More, much more than mechanical. No eardrum beat alone. But notes in a symphony. The…