Author: oyster28catcher (JRA)

Kinder Scout Eggs

oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

There’s a direct line from Brinnington to Hope. A world of differences between Ashburys and Marple. Too few similarities between Reddish North and New Mills Central. Yet the line from Manchester to Sheffield offers gems and escape. Friday the 25th of April 2025 led a path between Piccalilli train station and the quaint village of Edale.

Upstream to Grindslow Knoll, required a short wander through the village of Edale, passing the beginning of the Pennine Way. The Rambler Inn, The Nag’s Head, and Newfold Farm Cafe give a feel of what the tiny village of 400 centres around. An old and active primary school, set amongst the varied farm houses, country cottages, and Edale Parish Church show that life here isn’t all wandering. A path diverts from a truncated road over Grinds Brook. The protected stream will accompany mist walkers until Grindslow Knoll.

The paths start gentle with some undulating, before rocks, boulders, and scree start to appear intermittently. Heathers and moorland flora decorate either side of the funnelled valley. Eventually the bulk of Grinds Brook splinters into two sharp rises. Banking left involves a scramble, some choice pathway making skills, and a substantial incline. The views are increasingly dramatic. At the top, looking toward Mam Tor and Edale, much of the distance appears green and sprawling.

Following an old slabbed walkway, the journey takes explorers to a rock formation known as the Woolpacks. Peat bogs, heather, and alien-looking rocks litter, cluster, and emerge along the Kinder plateau. They mark the final wander to the peak of Kinder Scout and are a highlight for many walkers. Mermaid’s Pool, Charged Rock, and countless unnamed landmarks are worthy of an exploration.

The descent from Grindslow Knoll’s shady rear allows for farmland wanders along wide open pathways and a gentle jaunt on the home straight. Edale awaits. Edale sounds like a cake. The delicious Penny Pot Cafe banana and date oat flapjack was the only cake I had that day. Succulent. Alongside a cappuccino it made for a great reward. Before boarding the 1647 train, Panda found many a crumb landed in his fur. He promptly removed them before flopping back, head on the floor, for a nap.

Not Too Tame

oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

Once more into the breach we stepped. Mam and I popped to Salford. This time the mercy of the Gods waited. You know the Greek Gods. In Salford. Paul and Mam had introduced me to Not Too Tame before, and I had a hunger for more. Gods of Salford presented that opportunity.

Through the talented helm of Not Too Tame theatre, the audience plunged into a building site, engaged in some friendly participation, before being whipped into a frenzy. The usual midweek night in The Lowry this was not! Jimmy Fairhurst’s directions gave working-class heart and strength to a blend of modernity coupled with mythology. Cultural references slammed together with moetal defiance and resilience.

In a make-believe-believable world, overlords looked to determine the fate of a young cast of underlings. Much like modern life. Olympians, of the ancient kind, may have seemed up against it. Streetwise sense and a touch of “fuck off”-ery gave rise to a battle against all odds. This was theatre, with a hint or ten, of reality. Anthony Quinlan starred as Zeus, Laura Harrison and her incredible voice as Hera, and Jimmy Fairhurst as Hermes. Arguably, the stars of the show were the wide and broad troupe of young actors and actresses. Created and written by Not Too Tame, Jimmy Fairhurst, Andrew Butler & Louise Haggerty, featured a stunning set, seamless scene changes, a snappy soundtrack, and giggles galore. The aim of Not Too Tame is to make sure all audiences know “theatre IS for them.” True inclusiveness.

In 2025, The Lowry celebrated 25 years of presence at Manchester Port, renamed Salford Quays. Under the shadow of BBC and ITV studios, L.S. Lowry’s artwork equally sits by future potential and tried and tested acts. Opportunity’s hand glows on stage and Gods of Salford was no exceptional. Featuring a catchy soundtrack, poignant moments, and sharp dialogue, each moment flew by leaving the audience wanting more. After just 65 minutes, it was all over. So, what’s the next Not Too Tame production? Hurry up! Until then, other theatres and other groups will have to do.

“Remember, remember my name…” lyrics from a song featured in the show, God of Salford.

Divided We Fall?

oyster28catcher (JRA)1 Comment

Never once heard a left-wing leaning leftie say the Union Flag is offensive to anyone. Heard a few republicans call for the abolition of the monarchy and the U.K. flag, and a few Welsh ask for an update to include Yr Draig Goch in it. Honestly, every time I see a post about the U.K.’s Union Flag causing offense to Muslims, and it usually is Muslims, it annoys me. Social media posts, of this hateful kind, being shared look to divide people. Nobody is offended by that U.K. flag. Proud of the flag? Less and less, yes. It represents the majority, born here or drawn here. Perhaps, minorities would display it with pride if the U.K. was a little more friendly.

So, where’s it all coming from? Decades of stretching the haves from the have nots? Year upon years of a widening gap between salaries and costs of living? Or, perhaps tge rich get richer and the poor get poorer? That old cliche. In 32 years since 1990, the top 1% of the U.K. billionaires have seen their wealth grow tenfold. That collective wealth is almost exclusively out of circulation and likely adding to their ability to pull in more pennies. In 2024, according to Oxfam, U.K. billionaires gained £35 million a day. Is that £182 billion a year fair? 70% of the population barely equates the top 1% of the U.K.

Mind the gap. Income inequality may remain constant but the wealth of the richest and poorest is a chasm. Inherited wealth over generations may help the rich keep their titles and banks healthy. The poorest leave behind little and in many cases can’t even add gravestones. Disproportionate tax policies supporting the well-to-do through low taxation of dividends and capital gains benefit the wealthy. Inner city kids have no chance. Should we accept our place? Fodder for Lord Amazon and Co.?

Is there truth in Russia pushing immigration towards the U.K.? Well, many Ukrainians have sought sanctuary in Britain. Wars in Syria, Palestine, Yemen, and unrest across other global regions will always add a demand to find safer shores. Gangs exploiting trafficking for profit and increased ability to find weaknesses in U.K. laws following Britain’s exit from the European Union have certainly raised numbers.

The Royal National Lifeboat Institution (R.N.L.I.) are lifesavers. Volunteers who respond to sea emergencies and pluck the needy from near-certain death. They even rescue sheep and goats from time to time. Life is precious. Their sole purpose: to save lives at sea. A combined crew of 9,800 and 2,000 or so support staff make that possible. Since the 4th of March 1824, the orange livery of search and rescue have been around British and Irish waters, doing their incredible humanitarian work. Never discriminating. I always thought that’s how the U.K. should be viewed: a place of sanctuary and love for life. Perhaps I was naive and should have laughed at the picture of the RNLI boat full of Muslim-looking men heading for the Dover cliffs?

Then again, my Mam has always taught me not to be a knobhead.

When they came for the asylum seekers, I remained quiet; I wasn’t an asylum seeker.

When they came for the transgenders, I stayed silent; I wasn’t transgender.

When they came for the Free Palestine supporters, I kept my mouth closed; I wasn’t a Free Palestine supporter.

When they came for the free press, I didn’t utter a word; I did not write for the free press.

When they came to add internet censorship, I felt conflicted and hid; I did not act against them.

When they came for the library bookshelves, I stood tall and defiant…



Inspired by German Lutheran pastor Martin Niemöller (1892–1984) and his words below (English and German)

When the Nazis came for the communists,
I kept quiet; I wasn’t a communist.

When they came for the trade unionists, I kept quiet;
I wasn’t a trade unionist.

When they locked up the social democrats, I kept quiet;
I wasn’t a social democrat.

When they locked up the Jews, I kept quiet;
I wasn’t a Jew.

When they came for me, there was no one left to protest.



Als die Nazis die Kommunisten holten,
habe ich geschwiegen; ich war ja kein Kommunist.

Als sie die Gewerkschafter holten, habe ich geschwiegen;
ich war ja kein Gewerkschafter.

Als sie die Sozialdemokraten einsperrten, habe ich geschwiegen;
ich war ja kein Sozialdemokrat.

Als sie die Juden einsperrten, habe ich geschwiegen;
ich war ja kein Jude.

Als sie mich holten, gab es keinen mehr, der protestieren konnte.

17 KDB

oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

Peak-Kevin De Bruyne may have passed and there remains just a few windows to see the Manchester City number 17 in action. This had been one hell of a decade.

The redheaded Belgian, reminiscent of Tin Tin, has put in shift after shift at the sky blue Etihad and all the places along the way. He has contributed and given it all in a footballing spell that has filled his home with medals and accolades. Trophies have swamped his time at City and without his contribution there would surely have been no Champions League finals in Portugal and Istanbul.

Whilst KDB may have appeared more serious in his finale season of 2024/25, his battling of injuries and frustration appears to have been brushed away. Now fans have started to see the master with the ball at his feet and one that is capable of magic, as witnessed against Crystal Palace. With a past stocked with dribbling, assisting, and sublime technique, it is no wonder the former VfL Wolfsburg man has played nearly 415 games for City. Scoring around a quarter as many goals!

At City, Kevin has contributed to six Premier League trophies, two (hopefully three) FA Cup trophies, five league cups, a brace of Community Shields and that all-important Champions League trophy. Whilst every Blue would have been gutted to see him injured in both Champions League Final appearances, all are thankful for his battling and composure on every journey through a decade at the Etihad Stadium club. Four Manchester City player of the season awards recognise the love of the fans of the Belgian playmaker.

The charitable and likeable De Bruyne has embraced City In The Community and other good causes, whilst keeping close to fans (where possible). His athleticism and range of passing has surely made him the best midfielder of the Premier League era. His assists and goals have squashed his then club record fee of £55 million (€75 million). At the time the media laughed and called him a Chelsea flop with little potential. That has haunted many a pundit – and rightfully so!

Alongside David Silva, James McAtee, Leroy Sane, or whichever striker he needed to feed, De Bruyne has earned every chant to the tune of Seven Nations Army (White Stripes). Wherever De Bruyne chooses to play next, City fans will watch with envious eyes. Whether we see KDB wear the 17 shirt at the FIFA Club World Cup remains to be seen. It would be a fitting departure to feature for Manchester City at the USA tournament, but who knows?! For now, let’s treasure the last days at City of an absolutely prodigious playmaker!

At City, we’ve been spoilt with a raft of neo-legendary stars, arguably transisting from Pablo Zabaleta and a raft of Mark Hughes signings through to the striking viking Erling Haaland. Before that cult figures like Uwe Rosler, Richard Dunne, and Shaun Goater gave us light for the 90s and early 2000s. Now, the City Football Academy is producing the likes of Phil Foden and Nico O’Reilly. So, what say, alongside Emile Heskey’s lads, a certain Kevin De Bruyne deposits his son to bolster “maybe in another generation.”

Oh Kevin De Bruyne…

Frustrated

oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

Pause.

I’m married. Yet alone.

So lonely. Not together.

No hugs. No kisses. Just a phone.

Miss you. Miss one another.

Pause.

Apart. Far away.

Cursed. Dreams on hold.

In limbo every day.

Torture. No hand to hold.

Pause.

Painful. Desperate at times.

Denied a shared life.

Treated like a thousand crimes.

Soul screaming. Cruel bastard strife.

PAUSE.

I’m married. Yet alone.

Pause.

I’m married.

Pause.

Yet alone.

Pause.

Alone.

Short Straw Strategies

oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

B.P. are abandoning their green energy investments to “drill baby drill.” ™ ® What a time to be alive! Let’s reverse previously strenuous and tedious environmental efforts. Why can’t we be greener? Pupils at secondary school ask me, “Is war coming?” I play it down. However, are we sure it is not?

The very same human, Lord Vader Trump, has gaslit, manipulated, and slapped coercion on his viewed-as-inferior opposite number Zelensky. In much the same way as Andrew Tate’s Romanian victims may see things, Trump lent into the Ukrainian leader with, “You have allowed yourself to be in a very bad position.” Simple vocabulary, as expected. Flipping the abused with blame for being a victim of the abuser is an odd view. Imagine if the world had done the same when the U.S. of A. and then President George Bush Jr. shot after Osama Bin Laden and Al Qaeda.

The emphasis then fell to sidekick J.D. “Sports’ Vance, who once hated Trump and viewed the Trump tactics as too far. Instead, Vance pushed for a “thank you.” Al Murray’s Pub Landlord character was more fair about his masculine drinking views.

“flooding the zone with shit” – Steve Bannon, Guardian news

Trump and Vance essentially told the Ukraine to roll over, show its belly, and bend over for more action in its hinterland. It felt like a concede the loss and allow Russia to take over. Sure, let the bully take over and consolidate space and territory. Great idea! Good old American values. Saviour and leading light, Trump shouted repeatedly about Ukraine holding no cards to play. Of course, Ukraine’s European allies and greater global communities said otherwise. “Without us, you have nothing,” said an emboldened Trump, to which dozens of respected and elected leaders brandished two-fingers.

Peace and U.S. of A.’s staunchly Team America-view of global security have been hand in hand ever since U.S.A. entered global conflict as a victim of World War II, or even before. They responded to conflicts and cries of help. Even whilst allowing their own people to fire a selection of deadly metal devices at one another in the name of rights to bear arms. This from a nation supplying Academi [previously Blackwater] military suppliers. Blackwater Worldwide and Xe Services have had a troubled past blighted by controversy. They’re now Constellis Holdings and have had 28 years of U.S. paychecks that Trump and Co. are invested in by some shape of form. And pardoning.

Constellis may or may not be responsible for law enforcement training, logistics, close quarter training, and security services whilst being favoured over state contracts and entities. They may or may not be enjoy Trump saying, “If you get a ceasefire, you must accept it so that bullets stop flying and your people stop dying.” Especially as many billions of pounds was directed to U.S. companies and military supplies that have yet to reach Ukraine.

Trump wants to lead. He wants Zelensky and his country to be a subordinate and shouting over Zelensky to tell him, “You’re not in a position to dictate to us” is just plain old mean bullying. His and Vance’s pitch for a pathway to peace ignores Russia as an aggressor and turns Ukraine into a thorn in the back of resolution. Especially as he pins “…playing with the lives of millions of people” on the leader of those people.

Even if Ukraine was in a position to hold elections, would infrastructure and ceasefire allow such a thing? Or paint target cross-hairs on lines of battle-capable adults? The Ukraine’s place in a partnership and resistance has been made to feel like the Ukraine owes the world and U.S.A. This is codswallop.

“Fail we may, sail we must.” – Andrew Weatherall, English musician, DJ, songwriter, producer and remixer.

The U.S. of A. feels indebted to the Ukraine conflict. Oddly, repatriation has faded from other conflicts without a whisper of debate. Yet, here the Bin Laden-chasing, War on Terror bunch of cowboys and chief demand that “you must obey, or you will recieve nothing“. International Rescue, this is not. “If it weren’t for our weapons, this war would have ended in two weeks”, walks over the dead, the resistance, and a wider international support. It says that Europe and the Ukraine are irrelevant.

The sphincter-twitching Trump administration is in full-blown propaganda mode and answerable to investor overlords. The U.S. appears to be a puppet state with evil James Bond-baddy Elon Musk or Vladimir Putin pulling some of, if not all, the strings. These are dangerous times.

And now Putin won’t be pulled in. Even if Trump is calling him, begging him, laughing with him. Meanwhile, the P.M. son of a toolmaker and the U.K. investments in war machines at an alarming rate. All at the expense of social conditions, the environment, and hope. Still, at least they spared the tax-dodging elite. Here in the U.K. we have our own brand of gaslighting, victim-blaming, and coercion into gratitude. We’ll force our own subjects into terms beneficial for the state and potentially fatal to Britain.

Welcome to the era of stupidity. Let the stupidest win. Resources are dwindling to the greedy. If war should come, are we ready? Enjoy your views whilst you can.

Chee

oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

A trail of stones through the River Wye was the target. The locally famous Chee Dale stepping stones have long attracted walkers to the area. Chee Dale sounds like an incomplete name. Was it Cheese Dale? Is it Witch Edale? Perhaps it never was a Dale and was Cheadle? Either way, March’s final weekend involved a fair wander that Chee Dale gorge way into the Peak District.

Sitting roughly 7 miles from Buxton, the number 65 bus bridged that gap to Miller’s Dale (53.2552720, -1.7949950) and Wormhill Road. From here a sharp left, hugging the River Wye led on a craggy pathway with soggy bits toward Chee Gorge stepping stones and links to the Monsal Trail. There’s even abseiling at bridge 75. The gorges appear after a short but rough walk, with short up and down sections permeating the steep river embankment, often sandwiched alongside treacherous hillside banking.

Chee Dale is a green oasis of babbling Wye River brooks and tributaries. Rich with birdsong and imposing limestone cliff faces, lurking with peril overhead, yet surrounded by ash woodland and flowers of vital ecological importance. In the water beneath Dippers, Willow Warblers, and various waterfowl do the bird kingdom justice. Hopeful wildlife photographers hide under canvas and perch precariously for their captures.

External content: discretion advised. May contain footage of a terrifying bird.

Having headed on t’ line at Chee Tor Tunnel, the flat pathway led back toward Buxton. Chee Tor No.1 and its sequel No.2, and the spin off Rusher Cutting led to the end of the cycle trail, where an active line prevents further passing toward Buxton. Here it meant a short wander beyond Wyedale Car Park, turning right over a footbridge. The lack of curbside or space to stand as cars rushed passed was not for the faint-hearted! Keeping Panda, my dog, close by, we stop-started our walk until safe and beyond the rushing road.

The day culminated in 12.5 miles of wandering (20km). Plenty of sideways, backwards, and around-about routes eventually led on a pathway via a short stint on the A6 to Buxton. The wide valley leading uphill from the A6 to a farm overlooking the town appeared to be an old quarry route. Plenty of places to chuck a ball for Panda safely, after his early dips in the scenic River Wye.

A blend of former railway nostalgia, nature, heritage, and peace with a climax at the spa town of Buxton, complete with spring water tap, formed a good day out which was just a short train journey from Manchester. So, where next?

Dear Mum

oyster28catcher (JRA)1 Comment

To my mother, Elaine, how did you put up with me? And Astrid and Paul Jr too.  Thanks for being there no matter what and for giving me the confidence to be me.  I am finally seeing who I am and will make up for all my mistakes.  It’d be a dishonour to you, if I did not. I am always trying to better and fairer. Even when the fan is hit by epic proportions of proverbial turd.

Thanks for the Lego, the creation, the joy of reading and the pushes a long my walk through life.  Gran shines on through you and your sisters.  Then, there’s my Dad’s mother, Nana, friend’s and family members as mothers.  We’re blessed by so many great people that we meet a long the way.  Then, there are those unlucky not to be mothers, or mothers who have gone through terrible tragedies.  Let’s think of them too.  There are so many great mothers in the world, but only one is mine. 

Thanks for sharing the gift from a wonderful person, your Paul, t’other day. Seeing the Royal Northern College of Music and Clod Essemble’s production was magically enchanting. The enchanting evening featuring Welsh poetry, prayer, dance, lighting, and Thomas Mccarthy‘s words was emotional. Mam and Paul shared some amazing times and I’ve been lucky enough to share a few along the way.

Thank you Mum, for being my hero. I’ll try to do you proud, as best as I can. This week will be a tough one with Paul’s funeral. You’ve worked hard to ensure treasured memories and tribute follow. Thanks to you and Alexia for staying together to sort all this touching moments and photographs of time into a fitting farewell.

My Mam hasn’t needed profound words or phrases but she has always had a way to make me think, rather than lecture. Learning about choices and consequences, through expected feelings and what could or could not go wrong or right is one way to develop. Mam has opened many doors to the world.

Through an introduction to Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, R.E.M., and live gigs like Meat Loaf or Jeff Wayne’s War Of The World‘s, Mam has always ensured entertainment and fairness. The Campaign for Minimum Wage concert at Manchester’s then Nynex Arena was yet one example of social consciousness that I’ve been lucky to attend. Save Levenshulme Baths walk completed. Fix Chapel Street Primary School roof, supported. Local coffee shops over brands and chain? Why not?

Cypriot charms, Cornish climates, Lanc-York-Derby-Shire wanders, trips to Barmouth in Cymru, and so many examples of Mam providing a good life beyond No Frills beans and Weetabix. Cheers fo investing in us all.

To mums!

To my Mam. You’re the best. Love you.

Escaped Alone / What If If Only

oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

Recently director Sarah Frankcom delivered two incredible plays at the Royal Exchange Theatre, Manchester. The radiant light of the domed roofing cascading light over an internal structure resembling The Crystal Maze’s finale.

First up was Escaped Alone cloaked in a tremendous intensity. For 50 minutes, a quartet of acting stars deliver performances worthy of awards. Award-winning 74-year-old Annette Badland (Ted Lasso, Bergerac, and many, many more) has appeared on the silver screen, radio, theatre, and other media. Escaped Alone and What If If Only, Annette Badland played two different roles. The dramatic Glaswegian voice of Maureen Beattie OBE (Casualty, The Bill, and a whole host of other appearances) filled the stage through a succession of apocalyptic articulations and enunciations with her stage peers. Margot Leicester has strolled many stages, film sets, and studios. Her credits include Coronation Street and Casualty (the go to show for acting). Souad Faress has featured in The Archers, Casualty, and The Spy starred throughout the effusion, delivering the outpouring histrionic excellently.

What If If Only brutally strikes at the heart – even though it only lasts 25 minutes. The dialogue is sharp, enticing, and enhances the talented cast within a tale familiar to memory. The depths of loss, grief, and anguish mask fond memories and occasions. Here the lost future, present, and more visit upon a hapless mourner. Game of Throne’s 18-year-old co-starlet Bea Glancy featured in a haunting segment of What If If Only. The main star of this gripping grief-stricken play is Time and Beaker Girls actress Danielle Henry. Across from the main character, Someone, is Waterloo Road star Lamin Touray, fresh from All Creatures Great and Small and other such roles. The Royal Exchange Elders add further dimension to Caryl Churchill’s play.

All in all, two great plays, watched at a time of rightfully-heightened emotion. A pleasure to accompany my Mam to each performance. And if you haven’t booked a ticket for the theatre, “Go to”.

Spiralling down.

oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

The awesome of the mysterious light, radiating through a fine mist, drifting towards me was mesmerising. The patterns like straps on a parachute ascending upwards like a triangle missing its uppermost plain.

I tried to video it and take photographs. Even as Panda, my dog, nudged me to throw his ball, I pondered, wondered, and questioned what it could be. I knew from the object’s translucent state, it couldn’t be a drone. The misty form transformed passing rays of light outwardly. I queried all my logic. It couldn’t be a weather balloon. Not even a burst one.

I watched as it appeared to disappear and pass directly overhead. Then reappear, fade, and appear once more. I could see satellites passing overhead, far above this unidentified floating object. And aircraft flashing way up high. Its course stayed true, from Moston toward Clayton, Manchester. I pinged an image and video to my space expert friend Dan. He has raised his twin boys on a diet of the outer limits and knowledge.

An excited reply came back, “Maybe a rocket launch. SpaceX? I’ll ask Alex.” One of the twins would know or have a better idea. The light orb appeared to fan out like that of a ship’s rudder. Was this a projection? A hologram? No visible beams could be seen in the very clear sky. Not even a cloud. For Manchester, without a cloud is a spectacle itself!

Alex and Dan came back by message, see SpaceX launch in Florida, a few who’s previous. And that’s when looking at they sky became ruined again. Mites danced in the highest of visible atmosphere. The satellite pathways of Starlink and so on. Hundreds and thousands. Many of which become visible all too often. What would our ancestors make of it?

From hunter-gatherers of old to modern and better equipped people, eyes to their skies has been normalised and led to discovery and theories, or stories and moments of magic. I’ll confess this fuel dump by SpaceX was enchanting. Until I thought about the waste. The atmospheric dumping of gases and liquids. What would be the consequences? My adopted cousin Anthony commented, “Elon is pissing on us all.” He’s right. The days of Mulder and Scully are limited.

Williams Duo & Goodwin Too

oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

Oh, hey now is this a sign?
Have I been here before?
Oh, why should I care?
You can hear the silence drone
I still thirst

I looked for some guidance
Some beauty in my heart
Trying to accept the person I am
God knows it ain’t easy
Who knows the reason why?

Seize the time
Here comes my day in the summer sun
On summer days like these
But it slips through
What did you want?

In Memory of Paul: Words of Waits

oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

2019年2月9日，我们夫妻两人在Bradford的一家酒店住宿，好友John的妈妈Elaine阿姨得知这一消息后和她的伴侣Paul驱车三个小时连夜从Manchester赶来，还给我专门带了礼物，Elaine阿姨不知道我妻子也在，又把给自己女儿送的礼物送给了我的妻子。我们在酒店的酒吧里畅聊好几个小时，Elaine阿姨和Paul叔叔又深夜驱车赶回了Manchester。
匆匆一面，Paul叔叔非常和善健谈。六年后的今天他在于癌症抗争多年后离世。
REST IN PEACE, PAUL。
愿天堂没有病痛，我们缅怀您。

On February 9th, 2019, my wife and I stayed at a hotel in Bradford. When Aunty Elaine, the mother of our good friend John, heard the news, she and her partner Paul drove three hours from Manchester in the middle of the night. They brought me a gift, and Aunty Elaine didn’t know that my wife was also there. She gave my wife the gift she had bought for her own daughter. We chatted for several hours in the hotel bar, and Aunty Elaine and Uncle Paul drove back to Manchester in the middle of the night again.
After a hurried meeting, Uncle Paul was very kind and talkative. Today, six years later, he passed away after years of fighting cancer.
REST IN PEACE, PAUL.
May there be no pain in heaven. We remember you.

The kind words of Waits, Zhangye and Gansu’s biggest Manchester City fan.

Farewell friend.

oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

I want to thank you.

Thank you for opening my eyes.

Opening my eyes to a new lens.

A new lens capturing moments of time.

Moments of time caressing tender memories.

Caressing tender memories that led to this day.

Led to this day when we said farewell.

Said farewell to you and thank you.

Thank you for being here.

Rest peacefully. Good night and God bless. 🕊 🐝

To P. or not to P.

oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

You are the first person I’ve seen love my Mam. Before you, I didn’t witness it, from outside the family. Without that security for my Mam, I wouldn’t have upped and travelled or lived overseas.

During Gran’s last days, you stood firmly by Mam’s side and took care of me and the siblings. Where others would have walked away, you remained. And since then, hurdle after hurdle, you’ve stood by our tribe. That doesn’t mean you have no faults, and you know that legendary grumpiness is acceptable, even if you’ve had to tolerate me trying to get you to see and hear the music that I choose to share.

You’ve left a great impression on me. I didn’t need a father figure or a step dad. I found you to be the positivity and heart for my Mam. You’ve taken Mam overseas to countless theatre shows, pottered with pottery, tinkered with theatre, and travelled around this green isle. Fond memories stretched from caravan holidays in Anglesey to York for Yorkshire puddings stuffed with everything under the sun. You’ve opened doors to strange worlds of ice music, penguins, and crappy musical adaptations of miracles on New York streets. I wouldn’t change the world for these experiences. And, you’ve encouraged my growth for passion in hiking and wandering. Even if my body is catching up with me!

I told you and truly mean it, I want you in our family and my family. Time won’t allow much more togetherness, but have bo regrets. It is what it is. Like you said, we can’t grab false hopes and expect miracles. We can make it known about peace and love and letting your life stay with those you’ll leave. I wish I’d called by and kicked you out of a slumber, but I can’t change the last few hectic weeks. It wouldn’t have made today any less unpleasant. I just hope we can talk over these coming days.

And yes, these last few weeks have been agonising, and communication has broken down, but that doesn’t excuse being there for one another. Mam is there for you, stronger than ever before, and I’m around for natters and hopes and dreams. Nobody wants to say goodbye. It isn’t goodbye. Not yet. Only when you’re ready. I don’t want you to suffer. Nor do I want you to worry about Mam. Your sister is always welcome. We’ll all be stronger together because you need to be celebrated and championed. I hope tonight that you find calmness and a good sleep before we all visit again. There’s still time for talking.

What is strength? Is it the power not to lash out when anger fills your veins?

Is strength an illusion? A label to wrap up fear?

Is strength useful? Or a blind to allow all else to carry on?

For what good is strength when hope feels distant? Is it an alarm to carry on the conversation?

Peace and love. 🐝 🕊

This is not an obituary! This is a letter from the heart. Thank you for being present in our lives.

Self-discovery lens.

oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

We each have bad habits, and it isn’t my place to judge.

I ain’t ever smoked a cigarette, although I’ve breathed in far too many.

My not trying drugs is an issue I won’t ever budge.

Sometimes, my focus loses its antennae.

I am not an alcoholic although I do enjoy an odd drink.

I wouldn’t say I look to fight, even if I feel ready for a hit.

I like to avoid conflict, passing on kicking up a stink.

I can not tell a good joke or come across as full of wit.

I try to give more than I take. Whatever it may cost.

I prize friendship over profits.

I treasure memories but worry about opportunities lost.

I get frustrated at times. Throwing all kinds of fits.

“I’m not a racist but…” No. Not all all. I hate racism.

I’d like to protest but found my hands tied up.

I question capitalist ways, leaning my ears to socialism.

A bully bullies because they’re bullied and hold no club.

I am, however, a disappointment.

I am a disappointment.

I am.

Drawers.

oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

At the bottom of the unit lies a spring-loaded drawer with all my deepest and darkest utterings and thoughts.

Above that, another drawer, less-sealed, more-opened to tuck away memories warm and cold.

On top of the metaphorically wooden system, a drawer for the here and now. It has future dreams, brewing, and stewing.

One drawer shut tightly contains a world of marvellous thoughts.

Above it is an open shelf of optimism. A sliding glass door keeps in contained. Often, it is open just a tiny sliver.

Sometimes, just sometimes, I can keep everything, but what I need closed.

Mostly, however, my drawers are left open with socks and underpants spilling all over the floor.

If I were Napoleon, I’d shut the drawers and nod off.

I’m not Napoleon.

Quintessentially Doves

oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

Doves’ artistry is on display amongst the two tracks Renegade and Cold Dreaming. Until the romance of a Valentine’s Day album release, it appears just two doses of the Constellations For The Lonely are all that will be available. Each piece reminds us that whilst a road may seem bleak and unwelcoming, there is still beauty to be found in struggle and feelings.

The brooding intensity of Renegade’s conclusion pipes emotion. Jimi Goodwin’s distinctive tones overlay a bold and rhythmic track. It was used at a recent snooker competition, and on listening, it could be a tune heard at the Etihad Stadium or equally a doctor’s surgery. The driving energy of Renegade is rebellious, with the track title itself emotive to its Medieval Latin routes. As you’re drawn into the track, expect a touch of hypnotic intensity to circulate around you.

This gritty atmospheric anthem steadies introspective lyrics on a relentless sonic wave of self-determining propulsion. There’s the defiance of abandoning old ways in favour of urgency. Sharp percussion. Ethereal guitar work. This is a sound that is quintessentially Doves. A turbulence of inner conflict offers a chance to break free from self-imposed restraints or that of societal and fanbase expectations. Through warming lyrics, there is an echo of disconnection and yearned clarification. Trapped by doubts. Restlessness. Haven’t we all been there?

“Far from the hopes and dreams of crashing out too low” – Renegade – Doves

Cold Dreaming seems to tackle the quieter struggles. It strikes at detachment and longing for emotional connection. There’s a cinematic airy melody, expert drum work, and finiteness to the track. This deeply immersive track screams ambience, shimmering textures and draws on lush electronic-influences. There’s Northern Soul galore and a feeling of floating up and out into an otherworldly place. The soulful haunting tune could befit bands such as Mansun or numerous Northern English outfits.

At points, the tracks from Doves’ sixth studio album offer melancholic stillness, a space in the shadows of overthinking, and possible forgiveness from emotional numbness. There is a huge nod to Black Rivers, the project of Andy Williams and his brother Jez. Their post-Doves, pre-Doves band belongs as part of Doves. Much like the recovering and loved Jimi Goodwin remains present, even in the exile of recovery.

“Give me the strength I need to forgive” – Cold Dreaming – Doves

Doves have an uncanny track record of knitting and waving emotional landscapes in their sounds. Themes of solitude, inner struggle, and self-reflection are relevant in everyday life. The contrast of shades that we encounter in human experience is high volume. Here lies two tracks. Each allows solace and understanding to visit the listener, offering a place to navigate our own mental journeys. Do we truly know where all fights lead? We are surely vulnerable to not knowing. Is this struggle a sign of the growth of Doves? Or us? These tracks have felt like mirrors of late. Life is challenging, and like life, each track conveys emotional ambiguity. Bittersweet sense: should it dissolve in my grasp or be released as is the mature of fleeting time?

Words.

oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

Letters jumbled together to make some sort of sense.

Until they don’t.

Some make you sit up straight, late at night, tense.

Go away, they won’t.

Some are favourites, warm and welcome.

Others are demanding.

A smattering of words you’ll see seldom.

Many are descriptive waterfalls of meaning.

They drop delightfully.

A few unlock secrets and ideas gleaming.

They drop frightfully.

Sentences and words arranged not from simplicity.

There to baffle you.

Newspapers spew words of publicity.

“Words can’t hurt you.”

The toxicity of a word’s elasticity.

Yes, they FUCKING can!

Ferociously delivered weapons of choice.

Venomous sounds.

All the way at you as one voice.

Good old words.

id est quod id est

oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

The platinum Latin phrase of last week has to be, id est quod id est. Translation: it is what it is.

After an icy walk with the dogs, returning back for an episode of Brassic, and feet up, I noticed something missing. The black and white purr-box that has been cowering from the cold indoors almost every day, like a barometer, had not bugged me for a fuss. Between Panda GunDOGan, my Dad’s kangeroo-bollock-yapping-dog Blue and Sky the cat, my arms often get enough stroking exercises on a sofa.

Then I heard it. The faintest of faint meowing. I went upstairs, following the sound, zooming in on behind my bedroom door. For the first time, Sky had been locked in my room, signifying she’d snuck in after my shower. Unnoticed, sly Sky had spent several hours there. She wanted out. I opened the door. The door refused.

The door, flimsy at best, held firm. Its paneled front buckled slightly. The toughness of the bottom of the door scraping on carpet made me shudder. Sky had ripped the carpet up. And the underlay. And for good measure, the tacking that holds the carpet down. And the waterproof membrane off the back of the carpet. The door shifted a few centimetres. It was going nowhere fast.

Sky, sensing my frustration, upped her meowing game. Ear-piercing desperation, likely detectable on Mars as a signal of pleas for help. Then, the kind of constant whining only an upset can can muster. I computed my options. I had to push the door hard and fast past the fold. I’d damage the carpet, which I assumed was already a state.

I shoved, and Sky shot out a gap wide enough for a cat, yet too narrow for my 40-inch waistline and barrelled-chest. The door declined to open further. In a heat of rage, I shoved it, full shoulder. Newton’s second law. All 120kg of mass multiplied by acceleration. Full force.

The door shifted. I squeezed through a newer wider gap. The door’s hinges ached and screeched. I kicked the door shut and looked down at the damaged carpet and underlay. Fixable. Just. I tucked it in and noted it was not holding any longer. A repair for the future.

I went to open the door. The door held. It was jammed again. I was inside and wanted to be outside. My phone was ringing downstairs. A birthday video call for someone special. I tugged harder. Nothing. I applied more force. Off popped the door handle. An inconvenience. I yanked at the coat holders mounted on the door. They tore away. More than an inconvenience.

Panicking, I gripped the thin panel on the back of the door. It shifted slowly. Steadily, I exited the door. Later on, I tapped the carpet into a safer place. 

On reflection, id est quod id est, is a phrase that clearly signifies nothing can be done about a previous situation. It is what it is. How about the future? Unwritten? Let’s see.

Northern Rail

oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

Points failure. Delayed.

Late from the depot. Cancelled.

Staff member unavailable. Denied.

Leaves on the line. Complained.

Due to a landslide. Declined.

Snow, ice, fog, and high winds. Failed.

Extreme heat and railway line buckling. Inconvenienced.

Overhead line equipment failure. Uncovered.

Signal failure. Terminated.

Poor Victorian planning ahead for population expansions. Unconvinced.

Heavy volumes of rail traffic.Backlogged.

Overrunning engineering works. Poorly planned.

Speed restrictions in place. Underdeveloped.

Trespassers on the line. Stupid.

Telecoms failure. Apologised.

Animals on the line. Departed.

Lineside fires. Transpired.

Death on the line. Expired.

Another tannoy apology by a robot. Delay repayed.

The good old commute.

Immigration.

oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

Wouldn’t mind more migration and less borders.

Wouldn’t mind a little less bombing interventions overseas.

Wouldn’t mind peaceful values and ideals before responses get dished out.

Wouldn’t mind capitalism paying more taxes and seeking less havens.

Wouldn’t mind a shoulder to cry on.

Wouldn’t mind a living wage and more opportunities.

Wouldn’t mind fewer inequalities and a smidgen of hope.

Wouldn’t mind a hand of help reaching out to those who need it.

Wouldn’t mind thoughts before actions.

Wouldn’t mind understanding before judgement.

Wouldn’t mind smiles over frowns.

Wouldn’t mind less wealthy controlling corporations.

Wouldn’t mind a boom in small traders.

Wouldn’t mind dreams and dreamers discussing ideals and progress.

Wouldn’t mind more and more and more and more trees.

Wouldn’t mind water so clean you can paddle and drink in the freshness.

Wouldn’t mind the words and wisdom of the deceased generation that loved us all.

Wouldn’t mind no babies in hospitals, displaced by bombs, disease, and warmongering criminality.

Wouldn’t mind translators and cultural exchange bringing people closer.

Wouldn’t mind change.

How about you?