Recently on no more wriggling…
- Sorry Nigel Farage – Talking Books loved ‘Talking France’…
- Talking crime – on why we love a good murder mystery….
- Let’s focus on the words: Peter, Tony, and a Portrait of Keats
- Why Mrs T should have left the room quietly, closing the door behind her….
- ‘In relation to’ what? On ‘Talking Books’ and chewing words….
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Category Archives: Poetry
In the late 1970s, in my mid-teens and already enjoying the poetry of John Keats (albeit without really understanding all of it) I read a book by one of the great twentieth century writers on Keats and his work – Robert Gittings. … Continue reading
At this time of year – that rather doleful time between the Christmas festivities and the beginning of a new year – it is natural to look back at our achievements over the past twelve months and assess the success … Continue reading
This time last year I wrote a post wishing all those good enough to give No more wriggling out of writing their time a very merry Christmas, celebrating the fact that I had been blogging for a whole five months. … Continue reading
I have mentioned before that I attend a Royal Literary Fund ‘Reading Matters’ group every week. It is a wonderful idea; led by fabulous poet Julia Copus we listen to her read a short story and a poem each week, … Continue reading
I am feeling drained at the moment. Sleeping badly; feeling physically creaky; eating all the wrong food again after five weeks on a healthy eating blitz: it is no wonder that my emotional reserves are in the human equivalent of … Continue reading
The 11th of November, and Remembrance Sunday were days my father held above most others. Some of my earliest memories involve standing to attention by the black & white television in the back room as Big Ben chimed, the guns … Continue reading
There are very few writers who do not, on occasion, have an attack of ‘the vapours’ – defined by the Oxford Dictionary as ‘ a sudden feeling of faintness, nervousness or a state of depression’. It is a general feeling … Continue reading
This morning I was sitting inside at the PC, by french windows opening on to our south-facing garden. After thirty minutes I looked down at my left arm to see a distinct patch of sunburn. As far as I can … Continue reading
I love autumn, even in these earliest days of the season. It is not just now, as I (reluctantly) accept that I am middle-aged. I have always loved the colours, smells and celebrations in the months up to Christmas. The … Continue reading
On the eve of my week long holiday in the Lake District, I thought I would post this excerpt from a journal letter John Keats wrote to his brother Tom, back in London, in the early stages of his walking … Continue reading