FINISHED READING - The Good Son by Paul McVeigh

I saw Paul McVeigh on the last series of The Big Scottish Book Club. He read a short hilarious extract from a piece he wrote for The Common People anthology of working class writers. I bought his debut novel somewhat on the back of that appearance. Did it disappoint me? Well, yes it did, in a very odd way. I could tell it was written well with all the things that should make it engaging, but I felt quite neutral about it.

 Part of this may simply be down to needing Paul McVeigh to do a complete audio recording of The Good Son.  

He introduces us to Mickey Donnelly, who is on the cusp of his teenage years and about to go to secondary school. Mickey's voice and perceptions are both about to break. It's written from the perspective of an eleven year old, with all the naivety and misreadings of what is really going on around him, that that implies. The time period is the Seventies and we're at the height of 'The Troubles' in Northern Ireland. Mickey fails to grasp quite what is going on in the world around him, including not being able to comprehend the dynamic within his own family. He doesn't understand why everyone assumes he's gay. Instead he tries to find a girl who might be up for showing him what the sexual euphemism 'lumbering' means.

Now, you see, there is a lot about this book that seems full of fun, zest, brio, it is really characterful and I ought to be greatly amused by it. Maybe its my time of life, or a side effect of four months of lockdown, but I just could not be doing with it. It felt like a performing dog that was trying too hard to please me. Trapped in a room with someone who only joked and quipped endlessly. It's storyline, for me, lacked narrative purpose and dynamism. The novel ended up having a shapeless uniformity, so that one of Mickey's shenanigans and a fatal bomb blast appeared to have the same emotional tone, with no light or shade.

I know you don't have to read anything through to the bitter end. But I can never quite bring myself to walk away. I have too many recollections of books that have partly or completely redeemed themselves in their final chapters, paragraphs or even sentences. The Good Son, never quite achieved that, which felt a shame.  I found myself doggedly driving myself to keep on reading, putting myself on the sofa with the book and saying ' right, you stay here until this is all over'  Never a good sign. This may of course just all be me.

CARROT REVIEW - 3/8

SOME WORDS OF SETH GODIN - On Failure

" We cannot do creative work
unless we are prepared to accept the fact
that creative projects don't always succeed.

Failure is an event, not a person.

What would you do if you knew from the start
you were going to fail?

What would be worth doing anyway?"

SETH GODIN - In his lecture on Mindfulness & Creativity at Work - as part of Love & Resilience - The Contemplative Care Summit, 2021.

SHERINGHAM DIARY No 47 - The Coffee Gentlemen

THEY WALK

That regular daily walk has been, as it has for many others, the smallest of small releases from the staleness of existing within the same four walls most of the day. As the current lockdown progresses towards a time when we might have the freedom to travel further, the sense of railing against restriction grows internally, with frustrated intensity. We have days when for both of us our anxious sensitivities become gossamer thin, when no amount of walking along the Sheringham promenade prevents the odd leak of tetchiness.  In life before Covid, we would simply climb in the car, drive off to Wells or Walsingham, to anywhere that we love. That venturing outside our normal landscape was a useful safety valve, often sufficient in itself to lift any emotional cage we may have found ourselves caught within. However, in lockdown this has been impossible, so often we have to do the best we can at holding our stir crazy feelings.

THEY WAIT

As the 12th April possible day for reopening non-essential shops grows nearer, the list of things we would like to do in our shop before then can appear a bit daunting. I think we are treating it a bit like a re-launch of the business. New stock, new merchandising, refreshed decor etc etc. There is also a sense that the next few weeks will be our last opportunity for a while to make a few improvements on the first time around. There is still an air of unreality about our one morning a week working on the shop,in the shop, reorganising and carrying out plans. Until we actually are open I don't think we'll quite believe any of this is grounded in reality.  

THEY CREATE

We are continuing to find our Art Day keeps us a little bit saner than we would be without it. I've been working on trying to be receptive to wherever my painting wants to go and not to be too severe in my directing or censoring. Its in the nature of any artwork that is in a state of evolving, that you have to judge where the best place to stop is. What has happened with my current piece is it has accumulated through a series of decisions a result that is more of a riot of kinetic lines and colour than usual. Really it is much more chaotic than I tend to be happy to live with. But then that's indicative of the time we are living through.

But, I recently found myself saying, go on accept this, embrace this, just do what it says, treat this one as a hidden intention, I dare you! What I like about the painting, is that it is unfocused, its harder to read exactly what is going on. However, it fair fizzes, it possesses an energy that my paintings rarely get near. Everything in my previous work has often been so carefully considered and evaluated before I carry anything out. The end result static with nothing out of place. They are beautifully executed designs, controlled and unruffled things. What has happened with this feels for me quite liberating. My usual caution being thrown to the wind, is like a bird imagining what will happen when the cage door is finally left open

THEY WRITE

Regular readers of Cornucopia may have read one of my Family Fragments. A series of short pieces where I use a person or event from my family history as a starting point for an imaginative flight of fiction. Where this writing appears to take me is to towards a deeper sense of empathy for the person or persons I'm writing about. Even though what I'm writing is, by and large, made up, it inevitably fleshes out my understanding of the real people I knew and what their inner life, desires and motivations may have been like. 

THEY REFLECT

So far I've largely avoided subjects or events that pertain to my own life. But recently I started work on a piece called The Dropping Well, that has its starting point in an event from my early childhood. Though the way I've decided to develop it has no basis in what I know, it does seem to possess an ounce of imaginative truth. It explores one possible origin story for some self views and views of others. It has felt to have a quality of release to it. The story is a bit longer than is suitable for one posting, so like Dickens its going to be released in episodes. The first part will be ready to be posted next week, and if I'm feeling bold enough to launch it into the public sphere I will.

THEY WALK

In the first lockdown we took to regularly walking to the end and back of our road, mainly because it took just half an hour.  We met a few local residents from the village, to politely greet and have brief socially distanced 'how are you' type chats. There was Peter from over the road taking his dog for its early morning walk, and the middle aged lady with long dark hair with a husband who possessed the most miserable face in Christendom. 

Recently we were out walking in Sheringham Park. Our next door neighbour Phil was sat on a bench talking to this couple. We had a brief jocular conversation between us, as is common with Phil. In the process we discovered, that because we always take our mornings walk with a travel cup of the dark caffine elixir in our hands, she referred to us as 'The Coffee Gentlemen'. Our coffees appeared to her to be such a civilised thing to do. This has now become our favourite nomenclature - we are The Coffee Gentlemen.

SO WE ARE 

THE COFFEE GENTLEMEN!

FINISHED READING - Go Tell It On The Mountain - James Baldwin

Go Tell it on the Mountain was Baldwin's debut novel. Published in 1954 to high praise at the time. Perhaps over sixty five years later its harder to sense how much of a boundary breaking novel this was. The black experience and lives are all front back and central, not one colourful peripheral caricature walks in then out of the narrative. Its written in a fluent punchy style, but Baldwin was still evolving his writing, discovering what the tone and structure of his novels might be like. He was at this point yet to become the renowned civil rights activist of the sixties, The inspirational speaker and voice of the black experience for his generation. But the sources for it are all there in this book.

Baldwin said he had to write Go Tell It On The Mountain, simply to get his conflicted relationship with his own Father off his chest. In the middle of the story stands Gabriel, a visionary tub thumping pastor who berates and cajoles his parishioners, including his own family members, over their shaky moral rectitude. Around him his sons, daughters, wives passed and present, mistresses and casual flings all know that Gabriel has this secret side, one that he hides the consequences of even from himself.  

Gabriel's mission in life is to go and tell the truth of the Lord as he knows it from the Bible, to those who will listen. Though his family all know the flaw of hypocrisy that runs through this, each of them were at one time deeply enamoured with Gabriel's power as an orator. Under the weight of his unspoken guilt even that power as a preacher wains. Everyone might know of his hidden secrets but never Go Tell It openly, even amongst themselves.

Though it takes a while to accustom your ear to the rich bible belt language, it slowly draws you into the insularity of a black culture surviving within a white society. Really what remained most striking and moving for me was Baldwin's empathy for the predicament of the women surrounding Gabriel. They are all in some way trapped by their circumstances, most often simply by virtue of being a woman. Many make a great effort to gain some agency in their lives, only to see it fail, usually because a man dies, or leaves them destitute or fails to act honourable towards them.  The beating heart of this novel is its portrayal of the black woman's lot, and one patriarchal man's role in that. It still has something to say and for us to hear all these decades later. Its an engaging read, I look forward to reading the subsequent novels.

CARROT REVIEW - 6/8

CARROT CAKE REVIEW No 25 - Smoke & Mirror Cakes

Waitrose - Carrot & Passion Fruit Cake

I understand its difficult to make even a half satisfactory carrot cake in a factory. A true carrot cake is a highly unsuitable recipe for mass production. Its not a sponge cake, its generally heavier than most cakes and hence can be unpredictable in its outcome and cooking time. This is why factory produced carrot cakes invariably turn out to be just spiced sponge cakes, incurring my wrath and wither because, like a drug addict, they can't stop themselves from breaking not just one Golden Rule, No 1 but No 3 too. Cake makers, whether in a factory or in a cafe kitchen, can resort to smoke and mirrors, giving a carrot cake an exotic sounding name or ingredient and sticking marzipan carrots on it - they look like a carrot cake - but they're not even a short stroll away from being one.

So this Carrrot & Passion Fruit Cake from Waitrose was low in my expectations before I even snapped my lock down eroded dentures around it. They've branded it so because it sounds unique and sun kissed and not your common carrot cake found sweating under cling film on the stall of a Summer Fayre. Yet on the first bite you could be forgiven for wondering - 'So where is this Passion Fruit then ?' Turns out, in actuality, its only a very minor ingredient. Basically just a squiggle of passion fruit curd forming a double wavy line, like a pelmet, around the edge of the cream cheese frosting.  Smoke and mirror cakes dear readers, classic smoke and mirrors!

But!....Yes!!...a cream cheese frosting!!! - that'll shorten its shelf life. How do they produce a cream cheese frosting so thin yet stiff enough in consistency not to either sink with a pock marked grey drizzle into the cake or slide drunkenly off it? You would really have to scour the ingredients list looking for gums. That said, it was a recognisably cream cheese frosting and it caressed the cake with all the intimate fidelity of a life long lover. Touching perhaps, but not a passionate grapple on the croquet lawn.

Anyway, back at the cake experience. Well, unsurprisingly, it was spongy, but not so that it felt artificially pumped up. Carrots were higher up the ingredient list than you might expect, so the texture of the cake was more a light delicate rubble than an evenly whipped aeration. In terms of weight, well lets say it had cuddly love handles, lacking the expansive heft of a spare tyre swaddling its midriff. Plenty of sultanas moistening the mix. No discernible nuts!

If one were to overlook the smoke and mirrors, and I am on this occasion inclined to do so, it was not bad. For a factory produced carrot cake this made a passable approximation. 

CARROT CAKE SCORE - 5/8

MISS LUCKMOORE SAYS - Week Six

'The very purpose of this seasonal retail occasion is to expunge.'

From In Fabric - 2018

INTRODUCING - Godspeed You ! Black Emperor

From the depths of Montreal, Canada in the late 1990's a group of musicians with anarchistic leanings formed themselves into a collective and began making music together. They had no overriding concept or style to wrap around what they were doing.  The music that evolved makes experiments with form and progression, they feel as though they are freely structured as they flow in and out of intensity and moods. Though you might think each piece was largely improvised, the final compositions are far more carefully assembled and considered than you might think.

Their name Godspeed You! Black Emperor is a borrowed one , taken from a Japanese documentary of that name about biker gangs from 1976. The term 'post-rock' has been used as a rather lazy label to pin on their music, its not particularly descriptive nor self evident why. But if you break from conventions then you also depart from easy categorisation. So something purposefully vague like 'post rock' gets applied.

What would become the familiar patterning and elements in their music is present from the very first album. There are no songs or song structures, its only ever instrumental pieces. Recordings of ordinary peoples voices fade in or out, becoming absorbed into drone like guitars or violins. This melding could just as easily lead to a riotously wild out of control cacophony or a plangent simple musical guitar phrase that rises to an uplifting and exultant crescendo. Though 'post rock' they continue to use rock instrumentation for its dynamic tonal qualities but woven into an overall composition that could include anything.. They do this without descending into the stilted artifice of the avante garde, pseudo classicism or the pompous self indulgent virtuosic fiddling of 70's Prog Rock. Godspeed are far more human and 'Brechtian' in their approach than that.

The track 'Sleep' from Lift Your Skiny Fists Like Antenna To Heaven

The arc their music takes has great nobility. Its as though you are travelling through the grand sweep of a dramatic landscapes, where grim industrial grinding and grating suddenly reveals itself as the source for a heart stopping elegy, as if you've just stumbled into a beautiful vision by Blake.  I love to don a pair of headphones, pick an album by Godspeed You! Black Emperor to play, and do nothing else other than listen to it for over an hour and be taken on an auditory emotional journey. It can be one of the most rewarding musical adventures to surrender yourself to that I know.

Godspeed You! Black Emperor, use album titles in an elliptical poetic manner, populated by capital letters, hash-tags and emphatic exclamation marks. These give little clue to the music held within, or how to interpret it. With each album there's been an increasing feeling of trenchant urgency and brevity, the music developing a harder edged, punchier more driven style. 

Here is a discography with links to You Tube ( my star ratings in brackets )

1997 - F# A#  ( **** )
1998 - Slow Riot for New Zero Kanada (***)
2000 - Lift Your Skiny Fists Like Antenna To Heaven (****** )
2002 - Yanqui U X O ( ****** )
2012 - Alleluia! Dont Bend! Ascend! (*****)
2015 - Asunder, Sweet and Other Distress (****)
2017 - Luciferian Towers (****)
2021 - G_D's Pee AT STATES END! ( released 2nd April 2021 ) 

POEM - A Subtle Easing

It is through
                      eating
               that
                      is how you run away
  from snow
                      if you persist with
        feeding
                      and drinking
   there will
                      be neither
              time  
                      nor space
for anything
                       to settle
                 on
                       to block off
  your roads
                       out
        to close
                      the schools
 of scientific
                       thought
         to burst
                        the pipes
               with
                        melancholy
        in a cold
                        flood of childhood
                and
                         black ice
              for in
                        the gluttony
             is our
                        temporary escape
          a subtle
                        easing
             which
                         at the time
          seemed
                         worth      
           making
                         a run for

written Spring 2021 by
Stephen Lumb

WATCHED - The Terror

 

In 1848 the Erubus and The Terror set out on an expedition to find the North West Passage, led by Sir John Fitzgerald an experienced explorer. Nothing was heard of the ships or their crew and subsequent rescue missions failed to find them. The frozen buried bodies of a few crew were found, they'd died from eating lead contaminated food. In recent years the wrecks of both ships have been located. Fragments of information pieced together form only the barest framework for what may have happened. But truth be told its a mystery that many never be fully explained.

The drama The Terror takes what is known, imaginatively fleshing out the story. It doesn't have to maintain complete fidelity to historical fact because that doesn't exist, so it relishes the inventions it creates to fill in the gaps. They concoct against the grim frightening situation the crew find themselves in, a wonderfully chilling horror fantasy. This plays out over ten episodes in a grotesque and frequently grissly manner, it spares us nothing. Be warned there is a lot of very graphic detail. 

The Terror, though it has all the lurid flourishes of a Victorian Gothic novel, does also give a palpably chilly dramatic sense of their predicament. Their isolation and unstable psychological state after years on ships in an increasing desperate situation in the midst of a hostile environment. It is utterly gripping. Sometimes not a lot happens in an episode, but the wound up tenseness is maintained, you are left fearing for them and holding your breath. Even though you know this does not turn out well, it won't let your attention waver. 

Life on the ships is a small microcosm of the larger British Empire, with all the issues of class, upbringing, status, rivalries and racism playing out in the pressure cooker of its confined space. The script also explores contemporary concerns when so called 'alternative narratives' based on fake or misleadingly presented information is used to split the unity of the remaining survivors. All the while the effect of being slowly poisoned by the lead in their tinned provisions is taking their health and grip on sanity.

The officers are flawed men, whose coping strategies all prove inadequate for what they are facing. Ciarin Hines as the Captain performs to the hilt his full range of acting tropes, including the tendency to chew scenery, here its not misplaced. It allows Jared Harris the space to dial down his performance. He does give a subtle and skillfully nuanced performance of this clearheaded man, whose opinions other officers belittle and fatally do not pay sufficient heed to. He's a heroic individual trying, and often failing, to keep one step ahead of being subsumed by his own demons.

All brilliant stuff, highly recommended.

All ten episodes currently available to view on BBC I Player

MISS LUCKMOORE SAYS - Week Five

 

'Your changing room is waiting for you and your dress to coalesce into a simple union of wonder.'

From In Fabric - 2018

CARROT CAKE REVIEW ( Archive ) No 2 - Spice Cake Does Not A Carrot Cake Make

First Posted on my Perfect Carrot Cake blog on July 22nd 2017

Sheringham, Norfolk

The cake on the plate looked enormous, declaring itself a value for money slice of cake loud and clear. You could even see the gratings of carrot creating an orange speckled effect. The first taste of the cake was that it was rather fluffy and, I have to say, excessive in the lightness of its texture. I don't know about you, but for me, one of the characteristics of a really good carrot cake is that because of its primary ingredient, ie. the carrot, it tends to be a dense and weightier cake than most other species. When you envisage a carrot cake, fluffy, never comes to mind. I came to the conclusion that this cake was, in its very essence, made from a sponge mix with some large gratings of carrot thrown in for local colour.

So, it carries its carrot credentials a bit weakly. That said, it still had some carrot taste to it, plus a mild amount of mixed spice. The overall appearance and taste did teeter towards bland, which is a shame. Had it been served with a rich treacly sauce then it could easily have passed for a sponge pudding.

The frosting was a buttercream, stiff in consistency, though laid a little thinly so it became semi- opaque in places. Now I'll be frank, I'm no fan of buttercream on a carrot cake, as it usually ends up being too sweet and dominant, tending to drown any carroty flavour there may be. You rarely see a proper full creamed cheese on a carrot cake these days. I understand why, because this would shorten the lifespan of the carrot cake on the cafe shelf. Plus a cream cheese wouldn't suit low fat diets, dairy free or vegan customers. However much a buttercream is the safer choice, a cream cheese frosting remains, in my opinion, a much better compliment to a carrot cake's flavour.

CARROT CAKE SCORE 5/8

FAMILY FRAGMENTS - Teatime at Dottie & Reg's

'She can be right odd.......  other day she wer out, shopping in Demaines, fura loaf a bread, cake and the like. So she'd not gone far, just round corner. and you'd a thought she'd a left a chip pan on. Elsie says she ran out of her shop fast as a bullet, came back five minutes later as if nothin happened. All flushed in face, rasping breathin, but not a word of explanation.'

'Ah, but Mum, when I wer round there last week. I found a pan in the kitchen bin with a hard boiled eggs cremated in bottom that looked like the water ad boiled completely dry. She is gettin forgetful.'

'Well, you can't say its cos she spends too much time on her own. Ida wer sayin to me that recently she's been round hers at sometime, almost every day - every day! When yr best friend starts complaining, sumats not right'

'Being on your own after living all your life with you're Mother, it must be quite a change.... do you think she's OK?'

'Its always hard to tell with her, you'd think after all those years of being Mother's carer it would be liberating....... Its become quite a regular thing for her to conveniently turn up just that little bit before lunch or teatime, never after it starts, cos that would be to intrude. Its not that she can't afford to feed herself. Pensions way more generous than mine. She's done this a lot to us..... a lot - aint she Reg.?'

'I - she knew our Brenda wer coming round for tea last Satday, so who turns up half hour afore teatime, little miss Maureen.  Always bringing something thoughtful for our Dot, a knitting pattern , wool or cake from chapel bezzare. 'Oh, are you about to ave tea', she'll say all innocent like. Expectin I'll be kind and ask er to stay,  If am feelin that way out I just say 'I we are' and leave it at that. You should see look on er face. But I don't like it when our generosity is taken for granted.'

'She knows you and our Harold are here, so she'll be boobin up here afore long......Anyway, what'd you fancy for tea, I've gotta bit a ham, pork pie or corned beef, all with a bita salad, I don't quite stretch to making  quiche yet ... not over fond o foreign food are we Reg?. 

'No, we aren't, pasta!- egh!- tasteless baby food'

'Made a fruit cake this morning cos I knew u wer comin '

'Ham sounds all right to me....your brother will eat anything you put in front of him......won't you?

'Eh?.....Am easy'

'The cake your Mum's recipe?'

'Tis'

'Mother were good at bakin, but cookin food, Sunday roasts and the like, well, they were always bit spartan, never looked as though there wer much on plate shall we say'

'Not just the plates wer cold either! '

'I think she niver quite got over rationing'

'She could always make room for a cake, like everyone else in this family'

I'll plate up some ham later on .. do you want a cuppa now or after?

I'm fair partched Mum, I could down a quick cuppa tea, then I'll be headin off. Steve's mindin kids, but he has a job to go round and cost up'

'Aren't you stoppin to see your Auntie Maureen ?'

'No Dad, I get more than my share of her round mine too you know'

'But first thing she'll say will be, 'our Julie not here then?' and throw her self in that armchair, little legs stickin out like a dolls'

'Oooh, stop it Reg, be kind'

We wouldn't mind a cuppa tea, would we Harold'

'I'

'He'll have cake too'

How is yr Mum Joan?'

Still fine, settling in to the home, its difficult for anyone, but at her age'

'Loosing yr independence must be hard'

'Well, she's never any trouble, she's always there sitting in the same armchair, every time we go, chatting, smiling away, not a care in the world.'

'Must be a relief for you to know she's been looked after so well'

'Tis'

'Must dash Mum, great to see you all.... Bye'

'Such a credit to you both.'

'She's been very helpful to Maureen, pops round see how shes' doin, often does shoppin in town for er. Not that Maureen shows appreciation.......she's not really the grateful type. To be fair, she has helped Julie out with the kids occasionally. Brings all her Brown Owl experience to bear' 

'Whether they like it or not'

'Do you think she has any plans for that house?'

'Well, strictly speaking whole family owns it. We agreed she can live there for as long as she wants. She's hardly altered anything as yet, just occasionally runs up a new pair o curtains n matchin cushions.'

'Still can't tear her away from her sewing machine then?'

Oh no Joan, she'll regularly appear in something she ran up overnight. She never were a great sleeper even when she were younger, so she does a lot of it late at night. Good job Mother were deaf, must drive her neighbours bonkers'

'Sewin yourself a wardrobe runs in family. Auntie Edith used to make her own cloths. She'd make some right garish concoctions. We dreaded what she'd come dressed in to our wedding, didn't we Reg.'

'Pink and green, like a carnation, if I remember rightly.'

'Her colour choices were there 'inspired by nature'.......(sarcastically) so she said....I think she were colour blind actually'

'U oh, I can see her, she's at the crossroads. Get out an extra plate Dottie, she'll be with us soon,'

'Is she bringing owt with er?'

'I, she's weighed down wi a bag. We know what she'll have got in that'

'How old is Maureen now?'

'Seventy one, still cracks a fair walking pace though. 

'You letting er in' Reginald' - seen as your such bosom pals?'

'If you insist'

(the door bell rings, followed by prolonged muffled conversation )

'You can leave yr coat there if you like Maureen'

'Oooo its still a bit parky,  not quite Spring weather yet'

'You look a bit flushed Maureen, you alright'

'I - I'm not on short list for heaven yet Dottie. Hello Joan... Harold.......Our Julie not ere then?'

'You just missed her....had to rush home'

'That a new dress, not seen it afore.'

'It's a bit o fabric I originally got for Mother's bedroom, couldn't see it go to waste'

'Looks ......warm'

Well, am fair sweating from walk-in up that hill at the moment..... You've ad a cuppa then?'

'Mhu, there's more if you want some'

'If its no trouble.....You heading back tu Lincolnshire later Joan?'

'After Teatime'

'You can't travel anywhere on n empty stomach, I say'

'Is that so?'

'Well, it ruins yr concentration, so I read in People's Friend'

'Good job you've not got far to walk home then.'

'Reg! pass the cake round'

'Brought a couple a recent photo albums for you to look at Joan. Summer hols and what av yu.'

'Oh, you put us to shame Maureen, we've had ours printed for ages but Harold hasn't had time to do much, have you Harold?'

'No, I gotta a list o stuff June wants doi....'

'Gardens in such a mess after the Winter, he doesn't know where to start do you love?'

'No'

'I come very low down the priority list these days. His daughter's needs get more attention than mine.'

'She havin work done then?'

'He's making her a new set of gates.'

'Like yours?'

'Similar.... aren't they Harold'

'But blue'

'Well, you'll want to be havin your meal soonish, I guess'

'There's no hurry, its a while yet before we need to go, isn't?'

'What?'

'What time do we need to leave by?'

'Bout six,'

'Well, I'll plate up sooner rather than later.... you stoppin are you Maureen?'

'If its n bother, wouldn't mind'

'Noooo....its no bother.....(quietly to herself)  more the merrier'

'Is that cuppa tea comin anytime soon, am fair gaggin here'

'Sorry Maureen, not bein an attentive host am I'

'Now the photos in that folder are all from a coach tour holiday with Ida in the Summer'

'Looks like you had good weather Maureen. We love Devon and Cornwall, even though its a long drive down. Its hard on you isn't it Harold?....... Harold!'

'What?'

'The drive down to Devon, you find it hard'

'Alright, if you tek it steady'

'But you drive a lot when we are there too luv'

'Its n bother'

'All I'm saying is you never get yourself a break'

'Its not a problem'

'Well it might be for me Harold should you die young like your Father did'

'Agh! stop yr mithering'

'Have you heard anymore about hospital appointment Maureen, you hadn't heard last we spoke?'

'Next month - 23rd,'

'Your throat still sounds really sore

'I - its n better....... a cuppa tea helps!'

'Its coming .....(as she walks into the kitchen) Have they said what might be wrong?'

'Not specifically, that's what tests are for.

'That must be a worry for you'

Well, I keep miself busy, sewin..... visiting friends, being out n about keeps you from dwellin on it.

( an awkward pause  )

I've brought some left over wool. I've been havin a bit of a clear out, if its any use to you Dottie.....or Joan, seein as yr here'

Very kind of you Maureen, I've got too much unused in a cupboard at home already.'

'I haven't time for knitting at the mo, could take it to next chapel jumble sale'

'Well, I could do that if av a mind...........is that tea makin happenin, or should I go boil kettle miself?'

'Coming up right now'

( from the kitchen the sound of crockery breaking )

'You OK Dottie? Want a hand?

MISS LUCKMOORE SAYS - Week Four

'Miss Luckmoore experienced a transaction of ecstasy, and I ask if you could mutually sanctity her claim? But your dismissal of such a prestigious consumerist festivity leaves me bereft.'

From In Fabric - 2018

POEM - Though I Will Be Gone

The last hand
will be the embalmer's hand
his touch, not felt,
but still an act of care, of preparation
not really for me, but about me
in the minds of others, though
                                                I will be gone
anything left of me
will be shrouds and frozen moments
which will thaw and vanish
like a snowman,
                          small twigs,
                                              a carrot,
                      two lumps of coal 
all the abandoned
totems of me,
                       attributed to
but not me
                    I may have learnt by then
the letting go of physical form, 
                                                 perhaps
in the midst of some distress
                                              or other,
sunk deep into a state of vagueness,
a gentle absence, the strengthening bay of calm
I can imagine all these things
beforehand, in premonition, 
                                            where
even the mere idea of no longer being here
can still collapse the stoic facade
what is it that the crying cannot bare
                                                           to leave or to lose?
or is being roughly torn out from a feeling of being,
the obit from a newspaper,
                                           enough,
                                                         though
I will be gone, at some point,
                                               in the time frame
of that imagined moment of partition
would I really long for more? 
                                                to prolong
the angst and anguish further
                                               once
life and the kicking ceased, who am I
to miss it,
               to desire the grand reunion?
having left this body behind,
the oldest coat, fondly remembered
with all its pockets and admirers, 
                                                      but also
those loved and left behind, enfolded
by the arms of absence alone
none of whom have yet to broach
the entrance to that empty room
where I will be,
                         or won't be,
waiting,
              pondering
                                what all that striving
           and struggle
                                  was in aid of.

written February 2021 by
Stephen Lumb

FINISHED READING - Mayflies by Andrew O'Hagan

Mayflies opens with a group of young Scottish lads, the first half of the novel revolving around their friendship and difficulties in their late teens. Its set in the era of Post-Punk, all enthusiastic fans, they've got tickets for a weekend festival in Manchester. The novel is written as if seen through the eyes and perspective of Jimmy, he's not a confident lad, in awe of his more extrovert and brazen friend Tully. They have a dysfunctional parental relationship in common, they banter constantly about favourite films and music as they consider the direction of their future life. Tully makes himself the inspiration to them all. Encouraging them to fight for what they want, to not compromise or accept things as they are served up to them. 

Its a beautifully drawn portrait of male friendship, their world of shared experiences and enthusiasms which bonds them together. The unspoken love and appreciation for each other, that lies at its heart. O'Hagan writes with a touching familiarity and a real affectionate understanding.The dialogue crackles with well observed details, you could be forgiven for believing it was a verbatim transcription of actual conversations. You have the sense of knowing these types of guys, one of them might even be you. You are drawn into paying close attention to every little verbal tick and humorous twist of their inexperienced young man's viewpoint.

In the second half of the book we move forward over thirty years later. Jimmy is left a message on his answer machine, its Tully, he wants to meet up, there is something he wants to ask Jimmy to do for him. Jimmy and Tully are now middle aged men, with wives or girlfriends, they've done what they set out to do and forged a life they want for themselves, with successful careers. Everything about their relationship still stands upon the long established ground of their friendship, forged in those earlier years and that iconic Manchester weekend. What Tully wants now will, dominate Jimmy's life and test his loyalty to his best friend's wishes. 

As Mayflies advances towards its inevitable conclusion the emotional charge of it, slowly cranks up. Without resorting to manipulative sentimentality the novel's outcome deeply moved me, stirring up something in me which was both fundamental and profound. It is so sensitively and gently handled, I was impressed by the well judged finesse of it. Mayflies is that wonderful thing - a book which from the first paragraph to the very last sentence, is compelling to read. Its punchy agile sentences awakening you to what really great writing is.  Mayflies is well worth investigating.

Highly recommended

CARROT REVIEW  8/8