How to be you.

I think there are a couple of things a person has to take on board if they truly want to know who they are.

  1. HONESTY

The first thing do is drop any pretence.

& FACE YOURSELF.

…and to do that you have to be on the outside looking in. You have to develop the ability to look at yourself as though through the eyes of another. You have to be willing to point out the things that you don’t like about yourself.

Are you impatient? Then acknowledge it.

Are you liable to exaggerate – then admit it.

Are you full of fear – don’t be afraid to say so.

ETC…ETC…ETC.

The point being that the human being (YOU), is a mass of contradictions.

It’s OK. It’s our experiences in life have made us what we are. It’s not your fault for within that life is the truth  that the ‘damaged’ person (YOU) is constantly adjusting. Constantly working at ways to improve. Always on the go. Working to make oneself, ‘better’.

That, I believe is a given.

Although we may not consciously be working to improve we know in our hearts and head that the way we are at any given moment can be improved. We are in short, ‘A WORK IN PROGRESS’. And that work can take all of our lives. Our ‘self-healing’ and that is the marvellous thing about being human we can ‘repair’, is a long term job. Upon saying that, there are of course, for various reasons some who have, sometimes through no fault of their own or by choice have buried the mechanism that enables us ‘improvement’.

2. RULES. BE CAREFUL OF SOCIETY’S RULES.

Of course every society needs its rules and laws. Without any kind of framework to guide and lead us, there will come, chaos.

I believe that most of those rules are within us. They are what make us human and allow us to survive (flight or fight) and live a life.

Some rules we are born with. Others become part of us as we grow and become part of the society and culture we live and become used to. We accept, wrongly or rightly our ‘way of life’.

But this does not mean that rules cannot be changed.

Rules can in my view, ‘wear out’. As we become shall we say, more sophisticated and knowledgeable we will know that some rules have outstayed their welcome and either need to be tinkered with or dispensed with entirely. Good examples of this are the rules that govern our sexuality and who we are allowed to be.

As time has gone on, we have become more aware that the human race is a jigsaw of parts that like any jigsaw can be pieced together to make, a complete picture. However, its a jigsaw that is continually being added to.

As the years, decades go by we are constantly being surprised on how many more pieces it takes to form the human race…and its not over yet. More parts/peices of the puzzle are yet to be revealed. More surprises await us and more ‘rules’ will have to be changed or dispensed with to make way for our complex and myriad lives. A society or culture that cannot look at itself and right its wrongs WILL eventually self-destruct.

BRAVERY (and the conquering of fear- see above).

Society only ever changes because of the actions of the few.

Most of us WILL NOT BE THE ONE who steps forward. Those with that kind of courage are few and far between. Most of us are sheep. We follow the flock…but that’s OK…as long…

…as long as we are aware that there will come a time when we will be needed and have to raise our heads above the parapet…but even then it will be too much for most of us.

The trouble is if we do nothing. If we refuse to put our mark on the ballot paper or join the march or the strike we could find ourselves on the losing side and more in the open and at risk than we ever thought we would be.

The point being that it is almost impossible to stay silent.

By this I don’t mean you have to wave a flag or express your view through a loud hailer. The truth is, total silence can be construed as you being, complicit.

I believe, you/we live our lives in conjunction/ in connection with others.

Whether we like it or not, I believe our lives are intertwined. We can watch from the side-lines, and we can believe that what we see has nothing to do with us and will not in the long run affect us. That is a mistaken belief.

The rules and laws that are made to keep a part of the human race down and controlled, touch us all.

We can of course, state openly that ‘WE DON’T CARE’ about what happens to others and go on about our lives in complete ignorance. The refusal to even try to understand what it like to be in another’s shoes, to my mind makes those that think like that, LESS.

Sure they will survive and there will be no retribution or come back of any sort but they will be, empty vessels. A non-contributors. Taking up valuable space. Fleshy, empty, bags of useless bones.

Counting down the days.

The Stratfordian

I admit I do have a tendency to be a  bit over-dramatic but hey let’s face these are special times. With what’s going on in the world (at least what we know about) it’s a great time to get whatever is bothering you off your chest (before it’s too late).

So what’s bothering me…?

It’s the passage of time. But that’s nothing new. It’s always bothered me since I was a kid. How fast it all goes. One minute you are as I said a kid, the next you are a father with kids of your own. How did that happen?

Anyway, what I’m trying to say here is not only does it go too fast but, before you know it you’re close to the finishing line. Over. Done. And for what?

That’s how I feel right now. Near the end. Now don’t get me wrong this is not necessarily a complaint. I’m a little nervous but not scared. Apprehensive, yes but I’m of the school that thinks this is a journey of different stages so in a strange way I’m curious…even excited. Morbid to some I admit but this part of the journey (the living part) has been everything. Weird, frustrating, pointless (?), revealing, pleasurable (sex) plus a lot of other stuff that seemed to make it all worthwhile and by that I guess I mean, kids, offspring, children. No doubt they are THE THING that’s made it moderately worthwhile.

What’s brought this on?

Well a few years ago after a bout of breathlessness and a suspected heart attack (although that is now in doubt), I had some stents fitted. To cut a long (ish) story short – miraculous. I was back to er ‘normal’.

Cut too today…

The symptoms appear to have returned. Not as bad but they’re back. After a week or so of doing the typical male thing and ignoring them, I have been persuaded by you know who to book an appointment with the doctor.

So here we go again.. More stents? Big heart operation…watch this space.

I’m 73. No complaints.

OK. I’m not in the Ukraine or starving in some sun-scorched desert. I’m in the UK FFS with the only thing to worry about is the toad Boris Johnson (wash my mouth out with soap and water). I guess, like us all I’d like a bit more time. Selfish, I know but I’m trying to be honest. And as that’s the case, to be truthful I am a little scared of being fiddled about with again.

This has been a purely selfish post.

Musical thoughts; An old fart speaks.

So that’s the excitement over for another year. Glastonbury, come and gone in the blinking of an eye. Performers become superheroes and saviours of the world all on the basis of their constructing a simple melody that strikes somewhere deep in our consciousness, enlightening us and for a short magical moment taking us on a trip fuelled not by drugs but by the very vibration of the air around us.

Music would appear to be important in our lives.

Indeed there are some that are convinced that we cannot live without its vibrations. And so we have things like Glastonbury and other festivals and concerts etc that take us away for an hour or two to another place. A place of rest and escape.

Music can and does change the world.

Its vibration, the way it moves the air, its echo can infiltrate even the hardest heart and has the ability to make people stop and think. It excites memories and in between making certain people famous and a lot of money, it can give the listener, hope.

But hey, let’s not get carried away here.

Music is also fashion item and therefore a momentary thing. Once out of fashion its power is gone (until next time around maybe). One only has to look at the various musical campaigns to ‘Feed the World’ to note the short shelf life. People dance and react with fervour and passion until the beats don’t strike home anymore and the dance that they are performing looks suddenly clumsy, old-fashioned and embarrassing. So much for the poor and starving.

For all music’s and musicians’ macabre efforts to combining entertainment and deadly disaster, music cannot be denied its most useful purpose which is the passing on of information.

Music still plays the part that it has always done.

That of the travelling minstrel. The word will get around.

Music, although it does not have the ability in itself to drastically change the world it will always be able to inform and inspire. The other amazing thing about music is it gets to the parts other systems cannot reach and that is because of its ability to float in the air. To penetrate barriers, political systems and of course its magical ability to send coded and secret messages. It can also operate in disguise. Pretending to be one thing when in fact it is another. An iron fist in a velvet glove.

There is something weird/strange/mystical about music’s vibrations that will always make people stop and think…and thereafter…who knows?

With all the love in the world…wake up and smell the coffee.

The Stratfordian
Thank you from the bottom of my heart but it’s time to call it a day.

There comes a time when even the best in the world should wake up and smell the coffee. Even the one-time-best in the world should do the right thing and realise that they can’t do it anymore and if they do make an attempt, their legacy is at risk.

I’ve had to turn off Paul McCartney’s efforts at Glastonbury and I do it out of respect.

I just couldn’t take all those wonderful songs that were a very important part of my growing up, just being croaked out and by the man himself. So sad and I can’t bear it.

I guess that once you’ve been to the top of the mountain it’s extremely difficult to come down. It must be like an addiction.

You’re so used to being up high, to come down to earth is nigh impossible especially as people continue to tell you and write about how marvellous you are and what a genius etc, etc. And in Paul’s case, one of the greatest song writers in the world. Let’s face it, how are you going to let go of all that? You are gonna want to stick around forever aren’t you.

But that’s not how it works…

It’s the songs that stick around forever not the person who writes and sings them. Paul is only human and it’s beginning to show. The voice at 80 years old is behaving just like it you’d expect. It’s cracking up. The fluidity of the performance is changing and even reasons for watching the great man are different than they used to be…and that’s why I turned it off.

I don’t want Paul McCartney to become a museum piece. A curiousity. A fair ground freak. OK, some might say we’re not there yet but it’s obviously just around the corner and I don’t want to watch it happen. I have too much respect for the man and I owe him so much.

I don’t want to have to watch and find myself making a judgement call about how old he has suddenly become since I last saw him. Of course he has…he’s 80 years old. The McCartney I ‘knew’ and enjoyed was in his 20’s/30’s/40’s. And he no longer exists. And besides that I want to hear his masterpieces at their best. That’s the beauty of recordings they don’t age, they’re recordings of a wonderful moment in time.  Unfortunately, us soft, fleshy things age and then we die.

So Paul (if I may be familiar for a moment)…time to put your feet up mate. And thank you very,  very much for your service.

And if you could tell your mates, Elton, Rod, Roger (I’m not sure about Mick) to do the same that would be great. X

IFH.

 

 

Refugee crisis

The arrival today of the giant refugee puppet Amil in Stratford upon Avon today (I forgot) got me wondering about the world’s present day refugee crisis (who’s having the crisis by the way – the refugees or the ‘receiving country’) and the ferocity of feelings against those who for various reasons want to escape, run away call it what you will, from their present location.

I want to say that I don’t understand the anger against these people but of course that’s not true. There’s only one reason certain refugees are not welcome in this country and that’s based around the colour of their skin. All the other stuff about ‘economic refugees’ or ‘there’s not enough room’ etc, etc is all bollocks and designed to cloak and put some sense of respectability around racism.

There’s not even an argument to be had.

The proof of the pudding….as they say is proven by the fact that if you are Ukrainian and want to get your family away from death and destruction (a sensible choice) AND you are white, you are welcome.

If however, you are from a war situation and want to leave for similar reasons BUT are brown or black er…‘hang on a minute my friend while we check that there are no other reasons that you might want to locate in the UK’. Simple as that.

Personally speaking, I believe that ‘wanting to improve One’s life’ is a valid reason for anyone to go anywhere that looks more inviting and could quite possibly stop you from starving or dying.

*Although, I do admit I am baffled as to why anyone of a different hue would want to come to this predominantly racist country and suffer some more at the hands of the ignorant and stupid who seem to be overpopulating this country at this present time.

Mind you, at the moment we are only locking illegal migrants up or sending them to Rwanda. We aren’t using torture er…yet? (OK…locking up and sending people to Rwanda is a kind of torture isn’t it…but it’s a very British torture isn’t it. Subtle torture-polite torture.

I’ve often wondered who’s feeding our black and brown brethren the guff about the welcome to be found in the UK. Why doesn’t the truth ever get through? Unless of course the situation in their own country is so dire that the abuse they’ll receive over here is minor and at the moment won’t blow you or your kids heads off.

* (Probably something to do with our stringent gun laws).

Confession time; Losing his faith (Part I)

CONFESSION TIME.

I have to admit that I get some perverse enjoyment from telling people that I am an ex-priest who has, from day one of holiness, been losing his faith.

One:  I like to see the confused look on their faces when they realise they are confronted with someone who has so easily dismissed something they have been searching for or at least been trying to understand for most of their adult life.

And two: It’s not true.

To cut to the chase.

I have most certainly lost my faith but most certainly not in (for want of a better word), *God.

My faith (if I ever really and truthfully, had any) is totally gone in the C of E.

I have stopped believing in the Church of England.

And if the truth were really to be known, the only reason that they (CofE) became part of my life in the first place is because, they were there.

Like some huge blockade, I had to go through them to get to where I thought I wanted to be. They were/are the self-appointed gatekeepers. Custom Control.

They’re the Ones who led me astray and attempted to clone me. They are the Ones who put their grubby hands upon me, dressed me up in outlandish costume, gave me a script to read and let me go blundering dangerously, like a bad actor into the community.

So I blame them.

I blame them from disallowing true exploration into what was calling me.

I blame them for leading me away from who I truly was/am.

I blame them for supplying me with a false narrative and indoctrinating me day in (especially on Sundays) and day out.

I now realise that organised faith systems are always based on abuse.

And I am ashamed to realise at this at such a late hour.

I am ashamed that I was part of a system that basically told innocent people that they were not good enough and their only chance at something called ‘redemption’ would be to change.

I am ashamed because I could and should been concentrating more on the uniqueness of what each person in their own right had to offer. I should have been building confidence in realities not wishy-washy, pie in the sky when you die remedies.

I should have been pushing ‘WORTH’ not ‘worthlessness’.

I am truly sorry…it won’t happen again.

THEOLOGY FOR ALL

 

*God. This will be in part II (maybe).

I wish I could do that. I wish I could paint

Facing up to it.

70 years on the throne

Short Poem: Happy Days.

Is there a price to comedy?

 

 

I wish I could do that. I wish I could paint

Since I’ve returned to painting (a long story for another time), I’ve had a lot of people say to me, ‘I wish I could do that. I wish I could paint’. This has always amazed me for a number of reasons.

First of all, because it sounds just like I used to be.

Painting (and writing) were the things I wanted to do more than anything in the world but for various and ever-increasing ridiculous reasons and reasoning these activities seemed miles away and ‘not for the likes of me’. A standpoint that I want to make clear came entirely from me. No-one else was to blame. Not mum not dad, not some errant careers’ master, nope just me and an outlook on the world that somehow had me lower down the food chain than was healthy.

At the beginning of my webpage I describe my art as ‘Naïve’. As far as I’m concerned all I am doing here is explaining by use of the word ‘Naïve’ is to say that I have not been trained. No fancy art school for me.

The opportunities to receive that kind of training were a mystery to me. And once again, no-one’s fault just me not paying attention. That’s how it was. That, if I’m honest is how my life has been. A life unplanned. Chaotic some might say. But that’s OK. There’s no going back to change things. And perhaps more importantly, no regrets.

How the desire to create whether writing or painting came to me, I have no idea. Like everything else, it just happened. The odd thing was, it came with a proviso.

If I was to do anything related to those things then, there was no way I could or would take any aspect of writing or painting as a ‘hobby’. No way would it become just a pastime. No way would I use it as just ‘filling in time’. It had in my case to be taken seriously or not at all.

Very commendable you might say but unfortunately that kind of attitude has its hardships, its ups and downs. The worst one to try and get over is the fact that no matter how serious you take yourself, it’s a pain in the arse if no-one else does. Which takes me back to those that say, ‘I wish I could do that. I wish I could paint’.

These days we are obsessed with the official stamp of approval.

And I get that. Letters behind our name tell others that we have spent a period of time ‘training’. Exam qualifications tell people that we have passed some kind of test winning the approval of er…someone else. What those qualifications don’t do is tell anyone if we are any good (whatever that means). And therein lies my point…

We can all create. And what we make is unique BECAUSE there is no-one else like us. We paint, we write…LIKE NO-ONE ELSE.

That’s not to say we aren’t influenced by other artists, writers. Of course we are and that’s no bad thing. That’s how we learn of techniques, styles, methods all of which we can try ourselves. But here’s the thing…

Imagine knowing nothing.

Imagine doing it all for yourselves. Imagine exploring all the above with no guidance. How exciting is that.

Imagine coming up with something of your own pure creation. Imagine no-one ‘queering your pitch’ and telling you ‘that’s wrong’ or ‘that’s right’. Fantastic.

So to all those who say to me ‘I wish I could do that. I wish I could paint’ my answer is always the same. ‘YOU CAN’.

There’s no-one that dare stop you because the only weapons they have are ‘rules’.

Rules that have no strength, no power of their own. And who was it who said ‘rules are meant to be broken’.

An act of creation is art.

And your own personal act of creation overrules any challenge. It stands on its own. Released into the world and never to be repeated.

No matter how it was done. On a whim. Over days, weeks even years. No matter. You did it therefore it is unique. A one off.

And YOU, painter or writer are responsible.

MAGIC.

IFH.

Other stuff to read.

Facing up to it.

70 years on the throne

Short Poem: Happy Days.

Is there a price to comedy?

Guns for Good: The scourge of the firearm.

 

The condition of the boat.

I don’t know about anybody else but I’m finding myself quite concerned as to the condition of the boat we all appear to be rowing in and the ocean within which we are straining to move forward.

We appear to be getting nowhere and that’s because we are rowing against a very strong current and an even stronger wind.

What I’m trying to say here is the odd fact (odd because we don’t appear to have noticed), that we are falling more and more under the control, the auspices of ‘those who are nothing like us’.

Let me attempt to explain what I mean.

First off, by ‘we’ I mean those of us who have lived relatively ‘normal’ lives. Lives where we have not acrued great wealth either inherited or made with a great idea or exceptional luck. None of which by the way is, wrong.

If you have made money in any way (but criminal) good luck, live long and proper. Power to your elbow.

What or rather who I find problamatic are those because of their great wealth are so far removed from the rest of us, they have forgotten what it is to be human. Those that are so far removed that they no longer have anything in common with the rest of us.

To my point…

I am talking about those that as well as their wealth crave and have an unhealthy desire for Power and Control.

I don’t get it.

I don’t understand the connection or indeed the need to express wealth of the monetary kind alongside that of Power. Isn’t money enough? Why the need for Control as well?

For instance, I am currently represented in Parliament by a multi-millionaire who has absolutely no idea of the life lived by myself, or others like me.

One has only to look at his voting record to see that we have nothing in common and he at a very basic level has no understanding of my life or the predicaments that I find myself in. Yet he insists on telling me how I should be able to live my life.

His views for instance on shall we say, poverty, bear no resemblance to my own thoughts on what it means to be poor.  And in this the year of our lord, 2022, it is proven that his views, his ideas have no bearing on how a major segment of the population lives. And that is because a large proportion of the population of the UK, is hungry and poverty stricken.

But then how could he? He’s a millionaire for Christ’s sake. Him and me and lots of others, we live at opposite ends of the scale.

To put it bluntly, he will not starve but some of the people he represents, will. (And yes I am aware that I live in Stratford upon Avon, one of the wealthier places in the country but even here, people will go hungry).

So, what has happened to us to allow the above situation to exist?

How have we, we who (so they tell us) live in a democracy allowed this to happen? And more importantly, what can we do about it? And more importantly still…is there in fact anything we can do about it?

Have we (as I suspect) before our very eyes and with our permission, allowed the rich to creep up on us and (if you’ll excuse the expression) take us from behind?

Have we been craftily distracted by lots of shiny objects like TV, the national lottery, the promise of owning our own house and postage stamp sized land (garden)?

Or was it the ‘well paid’ jobs (wages controlled by the rich of course) that allowed us (crammed into a flying tube) holidays abroad that made us take our eyes off the ball? (And talking of that why haven’t we noticed that our holidays abroad are quite different than theirs)?

————————————————-

At this point, let’s have a break. Ponder on this…

A rich person buys one pair of high-quality boots that will last him/her for years. Expensive yes, but one pair will suffice for some time.

A poor person buys cheaply made boots because that is all him/her can afford. These cheap boots will not last as they do not have the quality of the rich persons boots…

ERGO…the poor person spends more on boots than the rich person.

NOT ONLY THAT…The rich person owns the factory where the poor person’s cheap boots are made. Mr or Mrs Rich Person also controls the wages and thereby the quality of the boots that the poor person can afford.

————————————————

Anyway, what’s to be done?

Nothing.

I am of the opinion that the general population is, if not at ease with the present situation, quite willing and lazy enough to sit back and allow the rich ‘to sort things out’.

And as for The Rich, they are quite happy with the way things are.

We are my friends…a suicide case.

A few years ago (the 60’s, the 90’s even. Poll tax riots), there was something in the air. The people had a belief in themselves. A strength that I don’t believe will ever be replicated.

Unfortunately, the rich cottoned on, got together and did a job on us.

To cut a long story short. Madam Thatcher and her cohorts surgically and with great skill cut the balls off the working people of this country, closed us down and returned us to a craftily contrived pre-magna carta time.

Ladies and gentlemen. Fellow peasants.

We are being taken for fools.

The defense rests….

Confession time; Losing his faith (Part I)

I wish I could do that. I wish I could paint

70 years on the throne

Short Poem: Happy Days.

Is there a price to comedy?

 

70 years on the throne

Here we all are celebrating a rich woman’s 70 years on the throne, and I read this (below).

*Ambulance boss warns of collapse…

‘Mr Docherty told the ambulance service’s board of directors at a meeting on Wednesday (25th May) that patients suffering from heart attacks, strokes and blood clots were ‘dying every day’ due to ambulances being stuck outside hospitals for several hours.

I’m sorry, I don’t want to ruin your enjoyment of people marching up and down, balcony appearances and fly pasts…

BUT PLEASE, CAN WE STOP, HAVE A GOOD LOOK AT OURSELVES & RE-START BY GETTING EVERYTHING INTO PERSPECTIVE?

* The Stratford upon avon Herald. June 2nd 2022.

I wish I could do that. I wish I could paint

Facing up to it.

Short Poem: Happy Days.

Is there a price to comedy?

Guns for Good: The scourge of the firearm.

Is there a price to comedy?

First of all let me set out my wares . I like Ricky Gervais.

He makes me laugh.

And yet amongst all that side-splitting he also makes me feel uncomfortable.

Above all he intrigues me and makes me want to ask…

Is there a price to comedy?

I find myself wondering how far he will go and how long he will last.

My actual view is he’s tested the water and is in the throes of having a last fling because he knows full well that it won’t be long before he faces the ‘Will Smith Syndrome’. and it could be worse than a slap. In fact it could be…cancellation.

I think that he has made enough money to retire into the background and just come up with ideas rather than expose himself on what I believe is becoming a dangerous, arena.

The right wing are crawling slowly out from beneath their stones ready able and very willing to ban books, bawdyness and anything else that begins with a ‘B’.

For me the question here is …

’Should comedy have boundaries’.

Once again I say, I like Ricky Gervais because he makes me laugh so it follows that  because laughter feeds him and encourages more of the same it also makes me complicit in the misery some say he inflicts upon the innocent (?) So, I have to stop and think and ask myself who are the casualties?

Every joke he makes about gender disparity, every humorous mime he performs depicting a sick child. Every time he pretends to put himself in the shoes of the different, the outsider he, some say, hurts someone.

And still I laugh.

The truth is that I know…

I know every giggle; every guffaw is based on a truth. Whether its people slipping on a banana skin or falling off a ladder, most of us see the funny side and conveniently forget that there are consequences to these seemingly humorous incidents. Which in turn begs the question…

Does everything have a funny side?

In my world and remembering what I have laughed at over the years I would have to plead guilty.

Comedy is an unusual and dangerous beast. An animal that has its uses. There is no doubt that laughing at ourselves and the way we live our lives can save us from living in eternal guilt and misery, releasing as it does self-healing endorphins to take us ‘out of ourselves’.

But there’s the other side. There’s a price we pay.

Actually. When we laugh, the truth is most of the time we are laughing at the misfortune of others. It is actually not ‘ourselves’ that we are laughing at. Although we say that we can recognise ourselves in the humour, that, i believe is just an excuse.

What we are really saying when we look at the targets of our ‘humour’ is ‘Thank God it’s not us’.

Our laughter is actually one huge sigh of relief.

I wish I could do that. I wish I could paint

70 years on the throne

Short Poem: Happy Days.

Guns for Good: The scourge of the firearm.

 

Rising as the cock crows

I must admit that I am not an early riser. Or, let me put that another way. I am intentionally NOT an early riser.

To be honest my days of rising as the cock crows are thankfully over. That was probably my all time hate when I was working. The hour at which you had to get up to go to work. I hated it.

However, do not get the wrong impression. The above confession does not mean in the slightest that I sleep until I wake naturally. Oh happy day.

Around here (Trinity Mead – Stratford upon Avon) although the Cock crow died out years ago, we still have an animal to act as nature’s alarm clock.

I write of course of The Dog. the stratfordian's art

In these parts every other resident appears to have a dog and in most cases a bloody noisy dog.

Let it not be said that I am a pet hater because I am not. I think tortoises are wonderful. But dogs of the barking variety are another thing.

For the life of me I don’t understand why every dog owner around here, at more or less the same time (early morning – are they in cahoots?), opens their back door to let the family beast out to bark in and at, the back garden.

It’s like syncronised barking.

This is how it goes…

Back door opens dog (s) runs out…barking.

Then, and this is the bit that really gets me, the barking commotion is followed by the human owner shouting at the animal…to stop barking.

What we then have is a performance that last for approx 15 minutes coming at ya from various near-by locations. Barking and shouting. Shouting and barking.

As the early hours progress I lie awake, listening to the pattern repeated over and over again, some far away, some close.

All over Trinity Mead, dogs and owners large and small  bark and shout. Shout and bark.

Until they don’t.

But of course by then it is too late. I’m awake and ready for bed.

There is  indeed no no peace for the wicked.

Dark and Light

At home with the Stratfordians

70 years on the throne

Being Nadhim Zahawi

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