The debonair Basil Marigold's

For the first time in many years I find myself, and my family, ensconced in Devon for Christmas. This is quite a rare occurrence for us as it rarely falls kindly. What with all the distances involved it doesn’t make for an easy trip. However, this year the calendar has helped us and, well, here we are. It is not a very Christmassy place, Devon, when you consider that Devon is the God favoured county in England. There will be little in the way of snow anywhere here apart from the Dartmoor peaks. Whereas Kirkby will at some point get a covering of some snow. Brixham is far to near to the coast for snow. I think in 25 years I only saw snow once in that time. The other difference between Brixham and Kirkby is one of a church nature. It is something that is lacking in Kirkby In Ashfield but is quite common here, in Brixham. It’s bells. More accurately, Church bells. It only something I notice when I come down here. There are two churches in the town and they both have

You’d think that 2016 would give us a little respite in celebrity passing but no. It continues apace with the sudden news of George Michael. His music was never quite my music. I was too young to be a fan of the music of his first band, Wham. And as I grew up I was more into heavier music than the pop music that they epitomised. By the time of his solo music release I was a convicted Pink Floyd, and Pearl Jam groupie. Grunge and Rock was where I stood. As George Michael dominated the single charts so I listened more to the album bands. That’s not to say he didn’t have an impact. He was an international superstar of the 80’s. His image and his sound was iconic. I remember him during the Freddie Mercury tribute concert in 1991 where he made it his own. His rendition of Queen classics became such a powerful image. His later life and music was often controversial from this point on. His musical highs were so high, but his personal lows, very low. His talent, however, was unden

I can tell when it is approaching the end of the year, as my travelling times to and from work begin to get shorter. The distance remains the same. However, instead of well over an hour, it starts dropping to below the hour from door to door. That makes for a good time of year for me. The start to the day is far less stressful. It becomes a little joyful instead. It is a time for joy of course. Though it hasn’t always been a joyful year, has it. 2016 has seen the passing of some iconic people. People who have either changed the culture of their times, or created a whole new aspect of culture. Notably, I would argue, David bowie fits the later. So, a time of recollection. It’s difficult when the cultural reference points of your existence begin to crumble and fall. Being young prevents this, in most cases, but as you get older, so they get older and then it will happen. Doesn’t make it any easier though. You spend a lifetime submersing yourself in their creativity and t

My daughter is a narcissist, as the last post shows. My wife, however, is merely odd.  Let's take last night. This week I go to work for 8am. Not too early you may say. I do have to drive 60 miles to get there. It is incredibly tiring to do in winter, the darkness and the coldness mean you need a decent night sleep so you are able to concentrate enough on the motorways. This though did not happen last night. After a few hours of sleep, well after midnight, I am woken by my wife.  ‘Where is the little man’, she said. ‘What?’ I replied half asleep, ‘what are you talking about?’ ‘The little man who lives in the duvet’ my wife states confidently. ‘Stop talking rubbish and go back to bed’ I turn over and go back to bed, ignoring the jibberish. A while later my wife starts talking again ‘Have you seen the little man? He’s always lived in the duvet. Near the top. I can’t find him!’ ‘Huh, says I’ woken for the second time. It must about 2am by now. ‘There is no

My  daughter  the  Narcissist.  A story of Christmas 2016.  At my son and daughters school they allow the children to write  Christmas  cards to each other. This seems an polite and kind thing to encourage. My daughter came home with quite a few  Christmas  cards from her friends.    I picked a couple up and glanced through them. Once you could decipher some of the handwriting they looked good. Apart from one.  One of the cards, written in pink ink said. 'To Grace' - Merry Christmas 'Love Grace'. The writing looked very familiar. I asked Grace, 'You sent yourself a Christmas card, didn’t you?'   'Yes' she replied.   What she had done was write a card to herself. Then proceeded  to put it in her school bag and then, finally, take it out and put it into the school letter box. Grace  waited. And, after a day or so, she received a red enveloped card with the name Grace written on the front.   Narcissist.