46/2023
I tell myself there’s something derelict About the 62-year-old me going to watch A team I don’t reall support and yelling Myself hoarse at their win, and getting Home late… Continue Reading
Richard Pierce – author, poet, painter
I tell myself there’s something derelict About the 62-year-old me going to watch A team I don’t reall support and yelling Myself hoarse at their win, and getting Home late… Continue Reading
THE KNOWING There is no certainty in the knowing, Always that small nook of doubt, The crick in your neck asking if you can Really be sure of anthing. And… Continue Reading
Another hectic day. And I’ve not yet prepared my show for tomorrow. But there are more important things. I’ll just make the show up as I go along. And for… Continue Reading
I am today mostly bereft of words. A and I are just back from the final match of the cricket season at Stradbroke, and stayed for Presentation Evening afterwards. Seeing… Continue Reading
I occasionally break the rule about all of this blog having to be new writing, but as we move towards the end of what has been a glorious summer in… Continue Reading
Today I actually did things I wanted to do. Had a lie-in. Drove down to Stradbroke (and dropped A at work on the way). Watched the lads play cricket (they… Continue Reading
Oddly, stupidly, weirdly, although I’ve retired from playing cricket, I am still shadow batting and shadow batting in my garden. But something has changed in the last few days. When… Continue Reading
It’s warmish, but the sun hasn’t really been shining today, which does put a bit of a downer on the whole thing, and makes it feel less like summer than… Continue Reading
Last night, after dinner, on our daily walk, an old sports injury in my right foot flared up. It hurt like hell, so when we got back (and I shouldn’t… Continue Reading
It must be quite warm. I’m not wearing any jumpers at all today, although that might change when I go for my walk later. I’ve also closed the blind of… Continue Reading