I rarely despair of Port Naain. After all, who wants a gloomy poet? There is a school of thought which suggests we are merely a better class of buffoon. Between ourselves and in all candour, I’m not sure whether the terms ‘school’ and ‘thought’ should be used in connection with people which such a poor … More The orphans
It has to be said that those of us involved with the shrine of Aea in her Aspect as the Personification of Tempered Enthusiasm do occasionally feel ‘put upon.’ I suppose it’s because we’re not involved in any great public ceremonials, are stuck out on the periphery and don’t have a lot of money. Change … More Kept in the dark
It is one thing to have a goal, it is entirely another thing to successfully achieve it. Hindle was wise enough to realise that. Still, next day, as he went about his daily round, he met a young woman. She was carrying a fiddle under one arm but didn’t seem to be going anywhere. He … More A love story, part five. After the ball was over
Not everybody is lucky enough to discover their vocation immediately. Whereas I was obviously doomed to be a great poet, others often vacillate between any number of options. Indeed some people don’t so much discover their calling as have it thrust upon them. Hindle Walbarrow is perhaps a good example of just how life can … More A love story, part four. Graciously rattling the collection bucket
As I continue to work towards telling the story of Hindle Walbarrow I find I must also bring a somewhat lesser figure to mind. I must allow the light of history to illuminate, briefly, the unworthy face of Trastin Leer. It must be confessed that somebody who lacks any pretensions to wit or original thought … More A love story, part three. Only the words.