My swimming costume and towel like sad flags ...

I listened to Union City Blue in the red wounded shark - 

Debbie Harry was singing in the dark heavens - I was wearing sunglasses - 

The travellers had left, leaving two hares carved out of oak - 

Earlier, I'd swum in the cold sea - 

Nellecke, Peter and Anne lay upon the crowded sands - 

You darted in like an otter Anne said - 

Back home, my towel and swimming costume hung upon the washing line like sad flags  - 

16.57

Friday 31 July 2015

Studland 

East Stoke

Dorset 

The chained library ...

The library was like Barquentine's study - 

Immense volumes were leashed by slender chains to cobwebbed shelves - 

We'd climbed a winding stair of twenty six steps - 

Below us were stones inscribed with the precious names of sons and daughters -

Words lay still as crusaders upon dark pages - 

12.00

Thursday 30 July 2015

The Chained Library

Winborne Minster

Wimborne

Dorset

 

Bold menus in Winchester ...

Bold menus are opened around the table in Prezzos - 

Sophie smiles her wise dazzling smile - 

Earlier, I heard Evensong in the Cathedral - 

Peter listened rapt to the beautiful ancient words - 

Nellecke searched for Jane Austen's tomb - 

We drank halves of Alfred In The Old Vine - 

I remembered a wild summer when a girl blew smoke into my mouth - 

19.30

Wednesday 30 July 2015

Winchester 

Watching The Theory of Everything ...

Last night we watched The Theory of Everything with Peter and Nellecke - 

They will be staying with us this week - 

Peter wore a shirt with splendid stripes - 

Nellecke gave me a book about Venice -  

I gazed at Bellini's portrait of the Doge - 

On the screen, Stephen Hawking wept in his wheelchair - 

We ate a take away curry from the Rajpoot Tandori - 

I remembered how my mum had clasped my hand - 

Will we be seeing you soon ? she'd asked - 

19.00

Tuesday July 29 2015

The Old School House

East Stoke 

Dorset

My dad is reading the newspaper ...

My dad is reading The Times - 

He's snorting over an article about John Bercow - 

The lounge is full of slow minutes, settling upon the armchairs like dark feathers - 

The alarm clock on the mantlepiece is turning into a strange creature, breathing out forgetfulness - 

10.55

Monday 27 July 2015

Staunton Road

Havant 

The happiest men all got rhythm ...

Through the french windows, I can see the roses I dead headed last Sunday - 

My mum's watching Shall We Dance? on the Sony Bravia - 

Fred Astaire is dancing like a slim legged angel - 

Ginger Rogers is smouldering - 

Just another dancer to croon in my arms Ginger sighs - 

It's stopped raining - 

The white Cunarder is sailing across the Atlantic - 

The stokers are playing hot jazz in the engine room - 

Fred's dancing amongst the gleaming pipe work - 

The happiest men all got rhythm Fred sings - 

15.25

Sunday 26 July 2015

My mum and dad's house

Staunton Road

Havant

High spirits in Marmion's Brasserie ...

In Marmion's Brasserie, Martin and I relished bumpers of Dark Horse -

Alyson told a story about a surly alsatian - 

Penelope traced the next day's route over the Eildon Hills - look at those contour lines she said - they're so close together ! - 

We joshed each other, gossiped and laughed - 

It was one year since we'd walked along Hadrian's Wall - 

Alteady we were excited, full of anticipation for the journey ahead  - 

We would be walking over the Cheviots, braving fields guarded by monstrous bulls - we would meet dour farmers of few words, thread our way through sad pinewoods -

We would walk barefoot over shining sands - 

We would stand inside a precious space, our journey turned into a pilgrimage - 

This time, Martin would be coming with us - I knew that I would value his company - 

Julia would join us at the Templeman Inn in Morebattle - 

A smiling Amazon served us dinner - once again, I opted for sea bass - 

After dinner, we walked through the still silent town, down to the river - we saw shining hills and fields - it was like walking into a painting by Samuel Palmer - 

We crossed over the river by means of a narrow suspension bridge - 

Martin swung the bridge to and fro when he stood upon it - 

A sign warned of formidable penalties for those who intentionally swung the bridge, or loitered upon it - 

I felt the bridge sway beneath me - 

Looking at Martin, I saw the boy he'd been at school, bright eyed, sporty, irrepressible - 

21.00

Wsnesday July 1 2015

Melrose

Meeting Martin ...

We met Alyson and Martin at the bus stop opposite Rhymers, not far from Burt's Hotel - 

The Number 67 Perryman bus was on time - 

Alyson brimmed with charm and mischief - 

You two are Gosport lads she grinned, looking at me, then at Martin - 

It was true - Martin and I had both gone to Brune Park School - 

We'd both been slippered by Mr Emmanuel, Martin for pushing a boy, myself for skulking and malingering - 

Miss Lowe had terrified us both - she was a tiny woman whose gown gave her two black wings - 

Were you ritually humiliated at the blackboard too? asked Martin - 

Yes - she called me out I said - were you taught by Mr Symonds ?

We called him Frank said Martin - because he looked like a gangster! - 

I remembered those straining suits - my gang called him Simbo - 

We fished for names and faces - 

There was a Miss Bursill Martin said - 

I recalled a young woman with thick ankles - 

Then whilst I was thinking it, Martin said the words aloud - 

Most of them must be gone now - 

18.45

Wednesday 1 July 2015

Melrose 

Harmony Garden ...

Harmony Garden was bathed in golden light - 

A long limbed girl read her book in the shade of a lime tree - 

Warm breezes carried the scents of many flowers - 

It was late afternoon - 

Penelope and I walked up to the house overlooking the gentle lawns - 

I pictured the man for whom it was built, a planter returned from Jamaica - 

He'd made his wicked fortune under a tropic sky - 

The house and garden were named after his plantation - 

He would hear the calls of emerald birds whenever he closed his eyes - 

When moonlight entered the house, strange constellations would cover the skies - 

17.00

Wednesday 1July 2015

Harmony Garden

Melrose 

At the Ormiston Institute ...

The courtly oldster ran his hands through his hair - 

These silver coins would be enough for a centurion's pay for one year he said - perhaps they were - 

We gazed at the shining denarii - I could see, very clearly, the profiles of Emperors and Empresses - 

Each small coin shone, as if immersed in icy water - 

The oldster, the curator of the museum, pointed to a denarius of Commodus - 

There are some bad ones here he chuckled - 

We were in the Corn Exchange, an austere reef of stone, home of the Ormiston Institute - 

One room sufficed to house the museum - 

Inside the Institute's reading room, a sign warned readers not to drink alcohol during Reading Room hours - 

A large pale man emerged from the cavernous jakes - he gestured at a shoal of steamy paperbacks - 

Take any you like he said - 

16.45

Wednesday 1 July 2015

The Ormiston Institute 

The Corn Exchange

Melrose 

Priorwood Orchard ...

A high wall enclosed the orchard - pale stone girdled its ancient trees -

Penelope and I followed paths mown through waist high grass - delicate leaves hanging from lichened branches provided shade - 

Memories of apple harvests hung above our heads - the trees dreamed their slow dreams - 

I imagined drinking cider made from Old Pearmain or Oslin apples - 

I would drink long golden autumns from my glass - 

Bells in the abbey would sound for compline - 

Shadows would lengthen as day gave way to night -  

16.00

Wednesday 1 July 2015

Priorwood Orchard

Melrose Abbey

My heart like a ragged bird ...

We followed my mum and dad as they walked towards the Meridian Centre - 

My mum pushed her sholley - my dad was keen to buy a pack of four and a bottle - 

We'd got my dad to use his stick - 

It'll make me look like old he'd said - 

I wondered how it would be, to walk with tiny steps, my heart like ragged bird, perched upon my ribs - 

10.00

Monday 20 July 2015

Havant

My mum watches children playing cricket in the park ...

I took my mum to the park this morning -

It was Anne's idea - they're not going to church she said - they'll get restless - 

My dad said he preferred Canon Brown to the new vicar - 

When I went round to see him he told us - Canon Brown always offered me a glass - 

My mum sat in the front passenger seat of the Golf - 

I drove as if she were made of sparrows' bones - 

In the park, we watched children playing cricket -

My mum's eyes shone -

Look at them she said - the little ones - 

We sat under the trees - I held her hand -

Birds sang - 

The bright sun moved across the sky - 

11.30

Sunday 19 July 2015

Havant 

Melrose Abbey, peregrinatio perpetua ...

I stood between broken columns, gazing upwards at the sky - 

A high window framed clouds and heaven - 

I remembered how grace might suddenly be bestowed - 

Swallows flew around the heads of lichened saints - 

Prayer drenched stone cast shadows upon the grass - 

I walked through the cloisters, now a haunt of butterflies -  

Peregrinatio perpetua I thought - each one of us walks towards the east - 

15.00

Wednesday 1 July 2015

Melrose Abbey

Walking through the wynd ...

 

I met up with Penny after leaving my grip in The Old Grocery - 

I walked through the wynd to Dunfermline House - 

I heard voices from opened windows high above my head - 

After two brimmers of Merlot I was a little tipsy - 

On the way, I passed a small theatre - it reminded me of the Magic Theatre in Steppenwolf - 

I looked for a sign saying entrance not for everybody - 

I thought of how I'd worn dark suits,  when I should have chased the moon - 

14.00

Wednesday 1 July 2015

Melrose

The wall of whisky ...

 

The cappuccino I sipped in Rhymers was worthy of a louche cafe bar in Dalston - 

I half expected a youth with an elaborate beard to bring me my almond pastry - 

We had just arrived in Melrose - 

Thoughts of the walk ahead filled our heads - 

We would follow the path taken by monks carrying the saint's sweet smelling bones - 

In front of me was a wall of malt whiskies -  

I remembered drinking Tobermory with Jay and Richard on the slopes of the Red Cuilins -  

Between sips we'd eaten plum cake, baked by Bridget's sister - 

I thought of Ken, telling me his stories of Africa, pouring bumpers of Laphroaig - 

I sat with my moleskine, reading the labels of the bottles - 

Each one, I thought, should celebrate a pilgrimage - each glass should bring back a memory of a hallowed shrine - 

12.00

Wednesday 1 July 2015

Rhymers

Melrose

The bus from Berwick to Melrose ...

I slept well in the Travelodge - I dreamed I put a yellow feather upon my tongue - 

In the morning I put on Look North weather - 

Penny told me she had been kept awake - boys from the pebble dashed houses had gathered outside the 24 hour MacDonalds - 

They were having a party in the car park Penny said - revving their motor bikes - 

I imagined the pale skinny boys, astride their buzzing Suzukis, drinking buckie - 

We walked to the railway station, to wait for the Perryman Bus - 

A father and son were talking like wily chancers about footballers - 

The dad said he's done well - never gets nutmegged - he'll lift the silverware - 

The bus took us north, over the border - we went through Coldstream and Kelso - 

For a while we drove along the valley of the Tweed - the river ran through bright fields - noble fish moved upstream - high walls enclosed ancestral parks - 

The courtly driver stopped the bus outside a rustic public lavatory - excuse me for a moment ladies and gentlemen he said - 

After Newtown St Boswells, a large gingery baby roared and roared - 

His gentle tattooed mother held him in her arms - his father rocked him in his buggy - 

The baby's doing my head in said a thin woman behind us - she had wild hair and a shrill voice - 

The baby carried on roaring - 

I sat listening to the Scottish accents and the short fierce sentences - 

Galashiels, Dalkeith, Musselburgh I murmured, as though I was remembering the words of a spell - 

Wednesday 1 July 2015

Perrymans Bus

Route 67

Berwick to Melrose 

Berwick twilight ...

We looked over the roof tops of the walled town from Meg's Mount - cruel beaked herring gulls nested amongst salt rimed chimney pots - 

A bridge with many arches spanned the shining river - 

Brave girls rowed skiffs upstream, past a whiteness of swans - 

In the shadow of the White Wall, a bare chested boy walked with his pit bull - 

Noble stone houses faced the selkie haunted sea - 

We saw, far off, two castles on the edge of the land - 

Evening sunlight fell into silent wynds - 

The town hall was like a Hawksmoor church - 

I dined on sea bass and samphire - 

The town was emptied of people - 

Narrow stairs led to a gateway in the walls - 

Our long shadows followed us, dark twins moving over pale stone -

20.00

Tuesday 30 June 2015

Berwick upon Tweed