147/2023
I think I miss an imagined version Of cricket, where there are no failures Nor unkind words, where there is no Permanent core of self-doubt Writhing around my heart, and… Continue Reading
Richard Pierce – author, poet, painter
I think I miss an imagined version Of cricket, where there are no failures Nor unkind words, where there is no Permanent core of self-doubt Writhing around my heart, and… Continue Reading
Everything stopped at that point. Even slow motion ceased, because the perfection of that moment had to be forever engraved into the air, a static monument, the ball about to… 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
At ten to midnight last night, I finally punched holes in all the printouts of this blog and put them into the lever arch folder M got for me a… 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
I just got back from the supermarket (where I fruitlessly searched for some Aperol), and realised I hadn’t written the blog for the day yet. So, while M’s fabulous home-made… Continue Reading
So obsessed am I with my Greek that I forgot all about the blog this morning, and jumped straight into a 20-minute lesson this morning when I came into the… Continue Reading