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Poetry, bikes, dementia care...
Poetry, bikes, dementia care...
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. Not explosives. Shoot pictures. Not…
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 orchestra all around. Violin, horn,…
We shall cycle on the beaches… If you like my impersonation please donate here.
From beyond the grave the Iron Lady gives a stirring performance for the Ride for Willen. If you like my impersonation please donate here.
Calm. The steam from your pre-ride espresso rises vertically. Today I cycled from Aberdeen to The Lecht ski centre in the Cairngorms and back. Whichever way I pedalled the wind was slapping my face. Which got me thinking about the Beaufort scale. The scale was…
It is, as headlines go, a little confusing, I’ll grant you that. Certainly not up there with “Freddie Starr Ate My Hamster” which has the simple virtue of telling you all you need to know without having to demean yourself by actually buying a copy…
I should have seen it coming. The van that is. Three thousand miles across car-obsessed, gas-guzzling America without a scratch. Three hundred miles in bike-obsessed, pedal-pushing Holland and… I’d arrived in the Netherlands a few days earlier to put in some training for Ride for Willen 2015 –…
Eight days, 800 miles, 45,000 feet. Last year when I cycled nearly 3,000 miles across America you asked what are you doing it for and how much money do you hope to raise and, to my shame, I had to reply just for me and nothing! Well this year I’ve decide to…
This is what Spring sounds like. Recorded at 5.20 this morning, Thursday March 20th just outside our backdoor.
I’ve long been struck by the saw (old saying) that says a dead tree is more alive than a live one. Which is why I’d been reluctant to take the other kind of saw to the cherry at the bottom of the orchard even though…
To shave or not to shave, that is the question (with apologies to Wm Shakespeare’s Prince Hamlet). It was always going to happen. In all honesty I’m surprised I’ve lasted a whole year. But it’s time I came out of the closet. Or rather it’s…
Butterfly wing tip Kaleidoscope fragment of A summer now past