I have known Stanlan Needleborne for virtually all of my life. He was the tough kid on the street, the rough boy we were all a bit nervous of. Looking back I cannot imagine why, I don’t remember him ever being anything but a friend to the rest of us street children. As we … More A very occasional poet.
Let us not beat about the bush. There are people whom you feel obliged to rescue from the results of their own ill-judged actions. In all candour they may be an idiot, but in some unquantifiable way, they are ‘your’ idiot. I know one should be firm with them and make them face up to … More One stands just so.
In spite of some of the memories, (Who now remembers the nipple-tassel poisoner?) I fondly recall performing at the house of the younger madam Oliphal. Her maid, Lottie, was determined to keep on top of things. She’d even prepared a wide selection of mop overshoes. So every guest who arrived, no matter who they were, … More Tidying up the lose ends
It is, apparently, fashionable for one to interview fellow artists. I’ve always been wary of this practice, feeling that perhaps, in some barely understood manner, it pandered to the undistinguished tastes of shallow people. But in our modern and democratic age, it seems that pandering is no longer the social kiss of death that it … More A Conversation
People don’t realise what gifts they have, or what skills they possess. Sometimes they have the ability to do all sorts of things yet they never do them. Obviously I am a person with many capabilities, able to turn my hand to a wide variety of work, a sonnet here, a bawdy ballad there, a … More A load of Bull