A wasp dillies and dallies at the door,
performing a dithering dance
as it decides whether to enter
or not, as the case may be.
And indeed, a moment later,
he buzzes away,
a declaration of defiance
or perhaps defeat.
Work after Lockdown
My hands cup the heated mug
of boiling hot water
that I have poured to protect
against the elements.
It is not working.
.
The sharp wind sears
through my skin, my clothing
too feeble to withstand
the feel of the freezing cold.
August my arse!
.
It may be bank holiday
but the clouds coat the sky
with a paltry grey palette,
shielding the golden hue
of the summer sun.
Typical.
.
I check the clock.
My time taking names
for test and trace
is ticking by
nonchalantly.
Come on.
.
I cannot wait
for the call of a colleague
on the walkie-talkie
to announce their imminent arrival,
so I can wander into the warmth.
Winter is going to be testing.
On Bob Harris
It’s #50notout for Bob Harris. The legendary presenter has hit a significant milestone in broadcasting. A special celebratory documentary on Radio 2 marked the occasion, Bob chatting to Radio 1’s Greg James about his life and times over the last half century. It is well worth a listen. His is an extraordinary career in which he has met some of the biggest names in music. But it’s his continued enthusiasm for the medium, and his support for new artists, that make him not only a giant in broadcasting for me but a role model too. Alongside the late, great Sir Terry Wogan, Whispering Bob has had a somewhat formative effect on my life, his soft, intimate and welcoming style always inviting me to sit and share in his company, wherever I am, however I’m feeling. That open style, that ability to speak directly to the individual listener, is a skill that not many possess. Terry was the best. Bob comes next. Both let their natural character and personality shine through. And as someone who feels pressured to conform to the expectations of others, I take great inspiration and encouragement from their uncompromising approach.
I will let others laud it over Bob for his professional achievements. I wanted to write a little something about what he means to me, for he has been a positive presence in my life for the best part of fifteen years. I have never met him. I have spoken to him only to ask a question at a Q&A screening of the film Wild Rose. After the event, I walked close behind him for a few hundred yards. I didn’t wish to disturb him. It would have been nice to get a photo. But whether the opportunity to meet him in person arises or not, his influence on my life remains nevertheless. I can still remember the first time I heard his voice on the radio. I was sat in the car outside Flint Leisure Centre on a dark autumn (or was it winter?) evening, waiting for my brother to finish swimming. I think my mum had gone inside to wait for him, leaving me to listen to the radio alone. I used to tune it to Radio City most of the time in my teenage years. I don’t know why I didn’t on this particular occasion. I will put it down to fate though, as through the speakers came a piece of music that surprised me and shook my world.
I don’t remember what the song was, or who sang it. I remember that it was a female voice; and, most significantly, that the lyrics contained explicit words regarding the Christian faith. I had only been a Christian for a year or two by that point. Already my faith had become compartmentalised into a sacred-secular divide. Church was distinctly separate from other activities. My faith was hidden most of the time, only talked about with other believers. Yet suddenly, here, for the first time, I heard someone talking about Jesus outside of Church. On national radio, early on a weekday evening, someone was singing honestly and openly about their faith. They may have been American, but still. The moment punched a hole in the wall of my partitioned heart. It is a hole that remains, to some extent, to this day. The warm and dulcet tones of Bob Harris came on after it. I did not know at the time that I was listening to his Country show. I don’t think I even realised that I was listening to country music. All I knew was that this moment was significant in shaping my faith. It turned out that it also laid the ground for how important country music would become in my life. I have Bob to thank for that.
I never listened to Radio 1. My heart has always belonged to Radio 2. That evening in the car, when I chose not to turn over to Radio City, also represented the moment when the station became a firm fixture in my life. I had listened to Terry Wogan in the mornings before school sometimes. Johnnie Walker’s Drivetime show was always the accompaniment to our Friday night drive to Grandma’s. I loved Alex Lester on the early morning journey to swimming. But that was the moment when Radio 2 became my default station. And it was whilst listening to that station, back in 2014, that my ears suddenly caught sound of a song that would completely change my life. Nashville (Grey Skies) by The Shires was part of a transformative journey for me into the world of country music. Its release was part of a year in which I remember hearing Kacey Musgraves for the first time, as part of Radio 2’s Live in Hyde Park. I had been utterly transfixed by what I was hearing, though I didn’t know why. Ward Thomas also appeared on the scene. And it was their appearance, along with The Shires, at Hyde Park in 2015, that I firmly became a country music convert. Radio 2 Country, the BBC’s pop-up station, had covered the Country2Country Festival only six months before. This had exposed me to the great and glorious world of the genre in a way that took my breath away. It crystallised what had gradually been blossoming in my heart: a love for country music that continues to this day. And who should be at the centre of all this but one Bob Harris. The man who first championed The Shires; who introduced Kacey Musgraves; and who has supported the growth of country music in the UK more than anyone else. The man whose music choice helped shape my faith had now become a major influence in my life. And with the passing of Sir Terry in January 2016, I turned to The Country Show to find solace in the music and the musings of Bob. It has been a regular feature in my life ever since.
I have loved my journey through the world of country music so far. It has been great to discover its delights at a time when its presence in the UK has grown exponentially. The Shires, and subsequently Ward Thomas, seemed to carve a path for a plethora of UK country music talent, with the likes of Catherine McGrath, The Wandering Hearts, Wildwood Kin and Laura Oakes riding the crest of a wave that has seen them all, to varying degrees, break into the mainstream. It is no coincidence that all have been personally supported by Bob Harris. His commitment to championing new and emerging talent is one of his greatest attributes. I can think of no one better to emulate when it comes to doing so. I have taken all of the above to heart, along with the likes of Clara Bond, Katy Hurt, Elles Bailey, Philippa Hanna, Jade Helliwell, Vic Allen, Two Ways Home, and Twinnie*, to name but a few. I think it is my faith that fuels a desire to support these (often independent) artists seriously, in the face of a society that has become so fixated on consumption that streams on Spotify and breaking even on tour have become measures of success. If Bob Harris has taught me anything, it is that we need to value those who make the music we listen to. And when that music plays such a significant part in my life, it is only right that I do so, whether through attendance at gigs, purchasing merchandise, or actually buying their music. Through my faith and the influence of people like Bob, I have come to treat country music with respect and love. I want to make a difference to the artists I support, however small. It will be nowhere near the impact that Bob Harris has had. But then his heart and passion for music is unrivalled. He is a legend for a reason.
Bob Harris is someone I look up to. He is someone I love listening to. And I hope he remains a giant in broadcasting for many years to come. I do not think I have overestimated my affection and gratitude for the man himself. He really has been an influential force in my life over the last few years. He will no doubt continue to be a role model for some time yet. That is why I consider him to be a personal hero. This is my small tribute to a truly great man.
*Check out my review site for further info on this list of artists (and more!)
I-land
Lockdown was for living.
The sudden absence of interaction
welcome.
I like being alone.
Man may not be an island but
I would like to live there
with a plane for the odd trip out,
and a red telephone box
to keep in contact with a world struggling
to come to terms with itself, returning
all-too-quickly to its old ways.
The new normal – my normal –
has already been
and gone.
Return (Post-lockdown)
The sound of an Arctic winter
blows in through the open windows,
defying the summer sun
which casts shadows over the waving fields
of browning grass.
.
How the serene sound
of the unexpected spring
soon disappears with the return to normal,
the seasons once again darkened
by man’s inability to change
for the better.
Changing Seasons
Spring sun gives way
to Summer rain.
Autumn’s cold recedes
to mild Winter.
February’s heatwave has stolen
July’s thunder.
Time
The rigid ring
of the church bell
is a painful reminder that
death is near,
instilling fear
into the image
of the quaint village
.
whilst the waves lap, unhurried,
elongating each second
against a numberless shore.
My First Prayer
I am sat, head down,
legs crossed, hands together,
saying words with no meaning.
I just know them, like an equation,
with no feeling, no emotion,
not realising that years of recitation
would multiply to equal
the foundations of a conversation
with someone I knew of
but had never met;
had spoken to, without realising,
but never with.
.
I wonder if that moment,
sat in the cubicle
of a toilet block
on a Swansea caravan park,
would have happened
if not for the ritual action
of the assemblies’ conclusion
which now, like Colours of Day, dawns
on the mind’s horizon
with the sudden realisation
that this was my first prayer.
Listening
It appears that you are absent
but your presence
in the silence
is marked by an
attentive listening.
The Gathering
A flock of birds gather
for their morning coffee,
gossiping away on the posts
of a weathered fence.
.
To the untrained ear,
they could be mistaken
for a congregation
of hymn singers.
.
In truth, they are busy-bodies,
parading around in their Sunday best,
whose tweeting is more
of a twitter;
.
telling shrill tales
through needle-like beaks
as they ruffle their feathers
and puff out their grand plumage.
.
Their pomposity is reflected
in the still, shining surface
of the water which sits silently
in the stone bath beneath,
.
casting their colours
to give the impression
of regal refinement,
whilst hiding the sullied silt
.
which lies beneath.
