n. The act of looking at antipodean life from the perspective of an Englishman living in a dream-like state
She watched him, captivated by her son’s wonder and reverence…He opened his palms and momentarily the fish hovered in the water, recovering from its strange ordeal, before darting off in a blink as if never there.
He picked up the photo off the bookshelf. Carefully pinching it by a corner, he gently wafted it to remove the film of dust that had appeared to have formed on where it was perched.
Continue reading “Matrilineal Lines”Watching these things with those from far off lands is like seeing them for the first time all over again through their eyes.
There it is, the hint of a dark shape moving swiftly beneath the creased surface of water. It’s so quick and so subtle at first you can’t be sure. You stare intently as a pulse of adrenaline courses through you like an eel. Then, there! A fin and a flank of taut, sheening grey skin – curving up through the surface before slipping away again as quickly as it appears. “DOLPHIN!” I blurt excitedly pointing like the village idiot.
Continue reading “Dolphins, ashes and a rainbow serpent”I felt like a bit of me died with Dave Greenfield’s passing – my rebellious, non-conformist past, my youthful grasp for sex, drugs and rock n’ roll.
5:15 am on a dark and stormy Perth morning – I stagger out of bed into my training gear and into the blinding light of the living room, collapse into a chair and pick up my phone that has been on charge overnight.
I read the single WhatsApp message from my friend Rebecca back in the UK and my heart plummets with dread. “Oh no Ben – so sorry to hear about Dave Greenfield. Terrible news (sad face emoji) xx.” Horribly awake and panicky now I quickly tap in his name into Google and there’s the headline on the Rolling Stone website “Stranglers’ Keyboardist Dave Greenfield Dead at 71, After Coronavirus Battle.” Continue reading “Loss, Love and A Lime Tree”
He still remains something of an enigma to me – and I think he probably always will.
I’m struggling to identify a defining moment in mine and my dad’s relationship.
I’m struggling to pinpoint the qualities by which I can give you an idea of who he was as a man and who he was to us as a father and husband. I’m struggling to split out the spectrum of emotions he evokes in me into black and white words – but there’s nothing new in that, even a year-and-a-half after his death, he still remains something of an enigma to me – although these days in a good way. And I think he probably always will.
Football had reclaimed the St George cross from the fascists and it was actually cool again to sport an England shirt with its iconic three lions.
The summer of 1996. Manchester. I am 26 and in love. The city is buzzing. The country is buzzing. Continue reading “Three lions on a shirt”
Unless the Buddhists are right, we only get one crack at this…
February the 16th and I [expletive-deletive]ing love celebrating my birthday. Continue reading “Let’s celebrate, it’s alright baby”
Don’t waste time – now is not a rehearsal for the future.
“Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph, preserve your memories…”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck – where is the fucking thing!” I growled as I rummaged through yet another dusty storage box. Continue reading “I have a photograph…”
There is something intrinsically down to earth in the English outlook I know, still colouring the darker, greyer part of my spectrum.
Every two years the old country that usually lurks just beneath my psyche rises up to the surface as we journey back to the land of our origin – an imposing and barnacle encrusted island. Continue reading “Notes from the old country”
It’s a fecking blog – of course it’s self-indulgent – but it’s therapeutic processing some of my mental murk and connecting with you.
Well, it’s been a while since I’ve put finger to keyboard to capture some of my pomtifications. It’s not that this blog is one of those side projects of mine that I initially throw myself into guns-a-blazing and then let drift off on to my psychic shelf to gather dust, unloved and forgotten. The truth is I’ve been through/am going through an intensely busy, but richly expansive phase of my life right now with shit loads going on and mental, spiritual and physical challenges aplenty floating around my little sphere. Continue reading “Getting back on the horse”
Out into the big blue, all my feverish thoughts of imminent disaster and incompetence fell free of my mental propeller – here was freedom.
Ever since going out on my first charter fishing trip 15 years ago on a visit to Perth, I have harboured (uh-huh) a deeply held dream and yearning to be able to journey out on the ocean in a boat of my own and catch fish. Continue reading “Das Boot (The Boat)”
pomtification 