I could buy a suit for thirty shillings ...

I bought a red leather belt in A F Joys this afternoon - 

I slipped it around my waist, overshadowed by a grove of fragrant tweed - 

I've slimmed down since India - Anne sometimes dines on walnuts - 

I put on a red fedora - I imagined myself lolling in a jazz bar with a canary yellow tie - 

A man was having a fitting for his cashmere coat - 

Time was different in the long narrow shop - 

Around each rich garment hovered courteous ghosts - 

Airships flew over the gentle town - 

I could buy a suit for thirty shillings - 

15.00

Monday 29 February 2016

Wareham

Dorset 

These beautiful strangers who will give me my name ...

We walked past McDonalds on our way to St Faiths - 

It's a bit fresh my dad said - but not what I'd call cold - there's no ice and snow on the ground - 

He plucked at his thin coat - 

There were no pale diners inside McDonalds - 

There was a winter my dad said - when there was snow to the end  of March - 

That was 1947 I said - 

I remembered seeing the newsreels of snowbound towns -

Blizzards swept over iron hills - 

The sea froze my dad said - 

My mum and dad were courting in 1947 - 

They were very young - 

There are photographs in an album which show them together - 

There they are, these beautiful strangers who will give me my name - 

09.20

Sunday 27 March 2016

Havant

Soon I'd hear a smokey voice call my name ...

This morning we went for a test drive in a Qashqai - 

Pristine beasts slept in the showroom's marble halls - 

James, our Sales Specialist, had the sprezzatura of a gilded Renaissance courtier -  

We admired the opulent sheen of the Qashqai's coachwork - 

It's very smooth to drive Anne said - 

She drove, as ever, with icy calm - 

I'm not immediately impressed she said - 

We told James we'd think about it - James smiled his silken smile -

*

I remembered the first car I'd bought, the blue Sunbeam Rapier - 

I'd bought it from an unshaven rogue - the ashtrays were filled with roaches - the radio played lazy reggae - 

I'd park the car outside the shebeen in a midnight street - once inside, I'd drink whisky out of a paper cup - soon I'd hear a smoky voice call my name -

13.30

Saturday 27 February 2016

Christchurch

Dorset

What will you do now with the gift of your left life? ...

I climbed up the spiral stair to the belvedere -

Below me was the beautiful inscrutable sea - 

The shadows of clouds moved slowly across the waves - 

Dark birds dived for fish - 

I'd walked here, under the shining leafless trees - 

At the foot of one tree, crocuses splashed colour upon the earth - 

February sunlight warmed lichened stone - 

Below me, beyond the winding stair, were carved words from a poem by Carol Ann Duffy - 

What will you do now with the gift of your left life? - 

12.30

Thursday 25 February 2016

Durlston Castle

Purbeck 

Dorset 

The pale sun was a golden fruit ...

Sophie and Paul are now in Rio - 

The white jet landed whilst I slept - 

I woke to frozen water meadows - I searched for a memory of summer - 

I looked at a map of Pernambuco - 

I remembered when Sophie found adventures on the garden lawn - 

Now her garden was a sultry continent - 

The pale sun was a golden fruit - 

 

12.33

Thursday 25 February 2016

The Belvedere 

Durlston Castle

Dorset 

Only memories of him were left, his hooting laughter, his charm ...

Once we were inside inside the black cab, I thought of Geoff - 

I remembered how he had gone everywhere by taxi - 

He'd dig into the pockets of his flying jacket for the fare, crumpling a big note into the driver's hand - 

Always give a tip he'd say - buses? - I never go on buses ! - 

Geoff had a moustache like Fu Manchu's - when I first met him, he worked in the wine trade - he'd uncork a bottle of Pouilly Fume with slender dexterous fingers, pouring out the lavish bumpers - 

Later he became a teacher - he was gifted with craziness and erratic charm - 

He'd hitch hiked to Dharmsala - he'd survived dysentery and heartbreak - 

As we were driven from Stratford to Forest Gate, I wondered what had happened to Geoff - 

I remember how he'd refused to have have his fortune told in Malham - 

Richard had seen him walk away into the darkness - cigarettes had glowed like small red stars - 

Then he was gone - only memories of him were left, his hooting laughter, his charm - 

Sunday 20 February 2016

Stratford

London

Now we walked upon white floorboards ...

Paul and I both wore Arran jumpers - 

High windows admitted gentle Sunday light - 

Sophie lit the fire in the wrought iron fireplace - 

Paul was reading a book of essays about the digital world - 

Low were playing on the laptop - 

The two bicycles looked like a subtle installation - 

A white china dog cast a stylish shadow - 

Anne and Tessa came in from the kitchen - 

Tessa smiled her dazzling smile - 

Earlier, we'd walked past the cosmopolitan shops - 

Now we walked upon white floorboards, remembering tender histories - 

16.00

Sunday 20 February 2016

Aldersbrook

London

A shelf of ferocious sauces ...

One of my vices is snarfing a fiery curry -

I linger over menus in dimly lit curry houses, murmuring the names of outré dishes - 

Shall I order an Aloo Gobi I ask Richard - or a Keema Boorke ? - 

We'll sip icy Cobras - 

Aquacars will prowl boozy streets, Southsea Poets will write villanelles on takeaway flyers - in Rosie's a jazz guitarist will play Django's Blues - 

In Forest Gate, I came upon a shelf of ferocious sauces - 

I remembered curries with Jay and Russell in The New Bengal - 

The patient waiters brought tindaloos to our rowdy table - 

One night, Russell sneaked into the kitchen - he hid a frozen chicken under his velvet jacket - 

Matthew, the noble Old English Sheepdog, waited for us in the smoke filled Triumph Herald - 

12.45

Saturday 20 February 2016

Forest Gate

London

Is that like the television? ...

I showed my dad a photograph of The Duke of York - 

The long hours were filling the lounge of memory -

My dad held the I Phone as though it were a mysterious artefact - 

There he said, pointing to a point just before the bows - that's where the cable holds are - I've stood there - 

I gazed at the vast implacable shape of the battleship - 

Smoke poured from the single funnel - 

Immense guns were like dreadful sleeping animals - 

There were over a thousand men on board my dad said - 

He put down the I Phone - 

He asked me where I got the picture - 

The Internet I said - 

Is that like the television?

In a way I said - 

16.15

Sunday 21 February 2016

Staunton Road

Havant 

Words shaped for a younger world ...

Paul suggested we visit the Wanstead Tap - 

We sipped tasters of Magic Roundabout - 

Trains rumbled by above our heads, filling the louche space with London noise -  

Craft beers sported quirky labels - 

I asked about Brazil - 

Paul and Sophie would fly to Rio in four days time - 

They would exchange this pale light for one far richer - 

They would hear a new language, words shaped for a younger world - 

13.00

Saturday 20 February 2016

Wanstead Tap

London

Innocents facing the old world ...

The school's closed for half term - 

The car park is empty - no nervy Skodas are lined up outside the Music Classroom - no long limbed boys carve lewd graffiti in steamy classrooms - the corridors are silent - in the school hall are nests of polypropylene chairs - 

Walking to the sports centre, I remember my first year of teaching - 

I'd enter my classroom, burdened with exercise books I'd marked the night before - I'd written good or see me in desperate biro - 

I'd get out my register, with its lists of names - 

I'd put up another poster of Julius Caesar  - 

I'd check my time table for the day - 

The hands of the classroom clock would start to go round in syrup - 

The bell would sound - then I'd hear them, my class, their young voices, full of artless bravado, innocents facing the old world - 

10.15

Friday 19 February 2016

Purbeck Sports Centre 

Purbeck School

Wareham

Dorset 

A cold wind shakes the SUVs ...

It's half term - pristine SUVs are parked outside Sainsburys - 

In The Salt Pig, Tarquins ask for sourdough bread - a woman wearing beautiful tweed leafs through a Dorset Life - there are no seats left for the Crossword Gang - 

That evening, near an ATM, I see a young beggar, sitting cross legged upon the stained pavement - 

His eyes are downcast - 

He's nursing a tiny puppy - he's cradled it under his shirt - 

There are small coins in the cap before him - 

I'm wearing a thick coat, with a keffiyeh wrapped tightly around my neck - 

A cold wind shakes the SUVs - 

The gentle town becomes a cruel arena - 

18.00

Monday 15 February 2016

Wareham 

Dorset 

I stood in lamplight on St John's Hill ...

Before I was Tarantino'd, I stood in lamp light on St John's Hill - 

Worn stone was beneath my feet - the early evening sky had yet to fill with stars - 

I walked past the time worn houses, each one filled with memory - 

The church tower rose up before me, dark against the sky - 

On the Town Quay, a fisherman knelt by the river's edge - 

The water was like a mirror, reflecting the silent world - 

18.30

Monday 15 February 2016

Wareham 

Purbeck

Dorset 

Last night I was Tarantino'd ...

Last night, I was Tarantino'd - I saw The Hateful Eight at The Rex - 

A blizzard swept across a wilderness - beautiful horses were urged forward through thigh deep snow - 

Bounty hunters harvested outlaws with long barrelled pistols - 

Killers disguised themselves with bizarre identities - 

A mad dog Johnny Reb fawned upon a former Confederate general - 

A black Revenger treasured his letter from Abraham Lincoln - 

A snarling murderess was chained to a bounty hunter called The Hangman - 

Soon eyes were narrowed, pistols leapt into sanguinary hands - 

Blood fountained in a mesmerising ballet of ultraviolence - bullets flew slowly through the air like terrible birds - 

The murderess danced a jig when she was hanged - 

I peered at the screen through my fingers - 

Earlier, in the tiny bar of the cinema, Leigh had poured out my brimmer of Pinotage - 

Enjoy the film she'd said - 

22.00

Monday 15 February 2016

The Rex

Wareham

Dorset

Our shadows followed us across the sand ...

I took a selfie on Knoll Beach this morning - 

I'd put on my new sunglasses -  

Behind me was the sea - above, the serene chill blueness of the sky - 

It was half term - 

Boys flew kites shaped like gulls - 

Family labradors braved the icy dazzling waves - 

In the National Trust cafe, sleek millennial couples WhatsApp'd chums in Dalston - 

I looked out upon the beach world through dark glasses - 

Our shadows followed us across the sand - 

12.00

Monday 15 February 2016

Knoll Beach

Studland 

Purbeck 

Dorset 

Pale coins at the bottom of a well ...

It's a bit fresh my dad said - 

We were walking down West Street towards Staunton Road -

A cold wind blew through the branches of leafless trees - 

I've been in colder places than this my dad said - 

We walked past Watermeadows Court - 

Behind sash windows, TVs glimmered in monochrome bedsits - 

Worshippers listened to time worn words in the Catholic Church - 

I knew Father Tom my dad had said - he liked a glass - 

My mum and dad crossed Boundary Road in convoy with their sholleys - 

There was The Prince of Wales, at the corner of Staunton Road and West Street - 

Its doors were still closed - no vaping bravos stood outside - 

Upon the walls of the lounge bar there used to hang framed photographs of battleships - 

Ships companies were gathered beneath the weight of colossal guns - 

If you looked closely, you could see each young face, pale coins at the bottom of a well - 

11.10

Sunday 14 February 2016

West Street

Havant

I was bound for Valparaiso ...

When the Whalers sang, I tasted salt upon my tongue -

I heard the tumult of the Southern Ocean - my feet were bare upon a heaving deck - 

I hauled upon a frozen rope - spray stung my eyes - 

My shipmates walked out upon the perilous yards - the white sails were furled - 

I wore a scarf of seaweed around my neck - 

My books were washed clean of words - 

I was bound for Valparaiso - 

21.30

Friday 12 February 2016

Wareham 

Purbeck 

Dorset

Reading Stephen King ...

Yesterday, I snarfed a sly half English in Beavers - 

I'd bought a creepy Stephen King in the Oxfam Bookshop - 

After my gaffer's feast, I skim read the pages where the Buick 8 spat out a "thin and wrinkled yellow nightmare" - 

For many years I'd never dreamed of reading a Stephen King - 

The novels looked like blood soaked breeze blocks - 

Then I'd read Doctor Sleep, followed by Revival - 

Reading those books once more I was a wide eyed nervy boy, dreaming wild dreams in my narrow bed - 

Swanage could be a small town surrounded by darkness - 

Coals burned in the stove - 

I could be a state trooper, my cruiser parked outside - 

I'd soon hear a message on the radio - 

"Base, this is 14 - Code 29-99, do you copy? - Two-niner-niner" - 

12.15

Thursday 11 February 2016

Beavers 

Swanage 

Dorset 

The nuclear submarines slept in the dark water ...

For once I turned on Channel 5 - 

For an hour I was lost, joyously, in conspiracy - 

The first episode of the new X Files had all I wanted, or needed - 

There was the beautiful sinister flying saucer, crashing at Roswell - there were its remains, like the opened petals of a dark flower - 

There was the laconic man in black, there was the naive scientist, cradling a dying grey - 

There was Fox, older now, and jowly, yet still wounded - 

There was Scully, still doubting, still beautiful - 

There was the smoking man, enigmatic in a wood panelled room, a lackey holding a Marlboro up to the hole on his throat - 

I sat back in my chair - 

I remembered watching the original series with my dad - 

He'd longed to see a flying saucer - 

He'd gazed at the night sky above the Gare Loch - 

The nuclear submarines slept in the dark water - 

23.30

Tuesday 9 February 2016

The Old School a House

East Stoke 

Dorset 

 

Paul of Kandahar ...

I met Paul this morning at Semi Colons -

Paul's a world traveller - he's slept under strange stars - he's flown over red deserts in a wounded aircraft - 

Once Paul booked a passage from Tilbury to Yokohama - 

He watched Neptune preside over his court when they crossed the line - 

The vast container ship was crewed by noiseless Filipinos - 

Paul had a suitcase of books in his cabin - he'd read Graham Green in the South China Sea - 

He'd watched a Russian crew train high pressure hoses on Somali pirates - 

The Russians were fearless - they all came from the same small town in Siberia - 

In the 1970s Paul had travelled overland from London to Dehli - 

He'd dined in a grim hotel in Bucharest - 

He'd bought almonds in a market in Kandahar - 

A tribesman had given him his ankle length coat for a fistful of afghani - 

Sitting in Queensmead Hall, next to Paul, I felt the heat of a tropic sun, the sounds of a teeming city - 

Soon, surely, I would be crossing a border, hearing a new language, breathing different air - 

11.00

Wednesday 10 February 2016

Queensmead Hall

Swanage

Dorset  

Buying new glasses ...

This morning, I went to Spec Savers - 

I chose some glasses with minimalist blue frames - I looked like a raffish scholar - 

Wearing the polarised sunglasses, I was a consigliere - all I needed was an enigmatic smile - 

Each time I buy some new glasses, I imagine that they will turn me into another person - 

Once I had some glasses with tiny round lenses in wire frames - 

Wear them Annick would say - 

I'd take off my glasses with the dull black frames - 

Wearing the other glasses, I'd then enter Annick's world of glorious disorder - I'd listen to her wild stories - I'd smell the smoke in her hair - 

My present glasses are Jasper Conran - 

I bought them just before my diagnosis of bowel cancer - 

When I wear them, I remember sitting before the surgeon, hearing his grave voice, listening to his careful words - 

11.00

Monday 8 February 2016

Poole

Seven ghosts linger inside The Square Tower ...

Richard sipped his taster of Adnams Sole Star - 

There are citrus notes he said - and there are hints of malt - caramel, too - 

The plan is to get my dad to drink sly bottles of Sole Star rather than of Tanglefoot -

Richard and Phil are sommeliers of rare ales - 

They haunt pubs where silent landlords decant porter into antique glasses - 

In dark snugs, poets compose their verses - travellers tell stories of feverish souks - chanteuses remember languid afternoons - 

It's always just before midnight - a full moon casts shadows upon a cobbled street - 

Radios play love songs in the alleyways - 

Gentle waves break upon a shingle beach - 

Seven ghosts linger inside the Square Tower - 

12.37

Tuesday 9 February 2016

The Old School House

East Stoke

Dorset 

The quick flames ...

I opened the shed door to get some coal for the evening fire - 

I lingered for a while inside a small disordered world - 

Its wooden walls were sheathed with brambles - spiders built mysterious cities under the sleeping mower - 

Discarded paint tins hoarded lost colours - 

Behind garden rakes were birds nests, fragile crowns woven from moss and hair -  

Two bicycles were like sad ghosts - 

Upon a shelf was a pair of boots, their soles still dusted with summer - 

A red hula hoop longed for Anne's waist - 

I filled the scuttle with the jet black coal, already feeling the heat of the quick flames - 

15.30

Sunday 7 February 2015

The garden shed 

The Old School House

East Stoke 

Dorset