Send in the clowns

As Boxing Day draws to a close and the eve of my birthday beckons I have nothing major to report: a quiet Christmas spent, for the most part, at Medd Towers - nipping out for lunch at The Balti House - and then back home to see off the remaining episodes of Broadchurch with David Tennant and Olivia Coleman.

Followed by a new book (there's still no feeling quite like starting a new novel). You can keep yer reindeer and yer wee donkey and all and sundry oxen, cattle and other Xmas related beasts. The only animals I'm interested in this Christmas are slow horses. Mick Herron's latest Slough House offering - Clown Town - was lurking in my stocking (and a signed copy too) so that's the next few days sorted. I truly hope your Christmas was as chilled as mine.

Ho Ho Ho

Nicholas Was... 

...older than sin, and his beard could grow no whiter. He wanted to die. 

The dwarfish natives of the Arctic caverns did not speak his language, but conversed in their own, twittering tongue, conducted incomprehensible rituals, when they were not actually working in the factories.

Once every year they forced him, sobbing and protesting, into Endless Night. During the journey he would stand near every child in the world, leave one of the dwarves' invisible gifts by its bedside. The children slept, frozen into time. 

He envied Prometheus and Loki, Sisyphus and Judas. His punishment was harsher. 

Ho. 

Ho.

Ho.

(by Neil Gaiman, 1989)

Before Summer Ends (10 pics from '25)

Here's my ninth photograph to mark 2025. Summers are all too brief in this country at the best of times, but after the year I've had I really could've done with a bit more of it; of all the summers I wanted to go on longer, 2025 was definitely the one. But it wasn't to be. I can't complain though. My friend J is really struggling at the moment. In fact she may not have many summers left, bless her. These are the trees just up the road from where she lives. I photographed them just before the end of summer. They were around long before we were and they'll still be around long after we're gone. I'm no philosopher (except maybe when I've got a pint in my hand), but I do find myself ruminating more than is probably good for me. I read a quote the other day and it's found its way into my psyche: 'A society grows great when old men plant trees in whose shade they shall never sit.' I've never planted a tree before. I think I may have just found my New Year's resolution.

★

 Keith Mansfield - Before Summer Ends (1976)

 

 

Beach boys

Squeeze c.1975

One of the most enjoyable - and brutally honest - biographies I've read was Chris Difford's 'Some Fantastic Place - My Life in and out of Squeeze'. His relationship with Glenn Tilbrook, alcohol and drugs is laid bare for all to see. And as an insight into what it's like being one half of a mega successful songwriting partnership that's often been compared to Lennon & McCartney, look no further; it's all contained within its 317 pages. I've been meaning to reread it for ages but since moving house back in 2017 I've not been able to find it. It's here somewhere, it's gotta be. But I'm buggered if I know where.

So it was a serendipitous charity shop find earlier today when browsing the bookshelves in Oxfam and I stumbled upon a signed copy! "Hi Brian", it says followed by Chris' trademark scrawled moniker. And this copy includes a new final chapter. So, thanks, Brian. And Chris, obviously. I'll get stuck into it next week over a glass of eggnog and a tin of Quality Street.

Voice of the Sea (10 pics from '25)

Here's my eighth photograph to mark 2025. I paid two visits to Bristol this year. The second time was to record some new material with Phil Cooper. I wrote about the songs I recorded at the time, including this one. Fuelled by nothing more toxic than tea and biscuits we had a really productive session (I'd like to go back next year and do a couple more) and between takes we chatted in his garden. I was admiring the artwork on his boundary fence; turns out Phil's wife is not only green-fingered but an artist to boot as well. I may have to let her loose on the album cover!              

★

Eric Spear (1908-1966) is probably best remembered for a television theme tune he was commissioned to write in 1960. Granada TV  were making a new serial set in the North West. Eric duly came up with the goods and wrote Lancashire Blues for the show which was to be called Florizel Street. They paid him the princely sum of £6 for his work. When Granada realised one of the cast (William Roache) couldn't pronounce the name of the show, it was hastily changed to Coronation Street. This isn't that.

 Eric Spear - Voice of the Sea (1964)