Farewell, David Silva

I don’t go much to the Etihad these days, my match attendances take place much further down the football chain. But I nevertheless can’t help feeling sad today with the reminder that David Silva, after ten sterling years, plays his final Premier League game tomorrow for Manchester City.

Maybe the greatest ever to wear the sky blue shirt, he deserves a better send off than performing in a stadium devoid of fans due to this Coronavirus. But I’m sure he will return at some point to say a proper farewell.

“I would like to be remembered as a good guy, who enjoys football. I hope the people enjoyed my football as well. It’s simple.”

Enjoyed it we did. The Premier League will be a lot poorer for his absence.

Rochdale Blues

Have mask, will travel. Border crossings, on a damp and languid day.

Heading once more back to Manchester by train, having started a new book, Water Shall Refuse Them, along the way. The author, this being her debut novel, has been getting comparisons to Shirley Jackson and, although I’m only fifty or so pages into it, the protagonist does have a bit of Merricat about her.

Rochdale, the penultimate stop on my journey, in the dark, wet afternoon never looked so bleak.

The next few weeks are looking bleak, too. With rising figures, Rochdale is on the brink of following Leicester into a possible new lockdown. Though I don’t live in the town, my own town comes under the borough of Rochdale, and another lockdown is the last thing that any of us want.

After leaving the train, I caught a bus outside of this Rochdale Road pub, The Marble Arch, established in the Ripper year: 1888.

A renowned pub that brews its own beer, it has been some years since I’ve been in there. Possibly over twenty.

Maybe I should have called in for a pint, today, while I still can.

Pipkins Flashback

Does anyone remember Hartley Hare?

The absolute roadkill of children’s puppets.

Life’s A Riot

Who would have thought this, six months ago?

I look like I’m going to a riot.

A bit of a sterile riot, a friend pointed out.

One has to take one’s safety seriously when one is launching petrol bombs.

Another friend commented I see you’ve also had your ears lowered.

Seeing as though my wife performed my first lockdown haircut, I’m thankful I’ve got any ears at all.

And what do people do these days when they go on blind dates?

You’ve got nice eyes.

And I guess that lip readers are screwed.

These are crazy days. Stay safe, friends. Stay crazy.

The Sea And I

from my poetry blog

Coronets For Ghosts

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R.I.P Jack Charlton

Member of the ’66 World Cup winning team.

R.I.P Ennio Morricone, 91

What were the odds that that primary school kid would go on to compose music for films made by his classmate, Sergio Leone?

On Poetry:Inspiration

City Jackdaw

For me, my poems serve as a diary. When I look at them I can remember where I was when I got the idea for each one, and what it was that acted as the initial inspiration. The opening poem in my book, Heading North, is called Midnight, July.

The title indicates the when, but not the where and why.

The words for this one came when I was sat in the back garden with a coffee. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and I was looking up at the stars and wondering whether we could be alone or was there life somewhere out there?

We writhe 

with a rage to know 

the unknowable,


blind to great masses

that dance in dark orbits. 

And a soft, summer wind 

on a night beneath stars 

is no balm.

While I was sat there, neck craned in the quiet of the…

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Claws For The Weekend: Lockdown Loosening

This will be Wetherspoons tomorrow.

Have a great weekend everybody,

Maintain that social distancing. See you on the flip side.