As a writer, I do occasionally get concerned when words appear to change their meaning, or if the same word seems to mean different things to different people. One word which looks as though it has fallen into both these categories is the word ‘friend.’ It seems to be used to mean ‘social media contact,’ or, for some people, it is equivalent to ‘this person whom I’ve just met.’ For me, the word means something closer than what is implied by either of those two explanations. Something closer, deeper, and longer-lasting.

These thoughts were prompted by a discussion amongst a group of writer friends about a (admittedly fictional) someone’s ashes being not very heavy and, ultimately, ‘overlooked and discarded.’ I did some research, and re-visited some memories … Was the author of this story right, wrong, or somewhere in-between?

The trouble with being a writer is, even though I spend so much time thinking, or reading (and calling it research), whenever I plan to take time off away from the laptop, and do other things, in this case, a 1,000-piece jigsaw, my writing brain won’t switch off, and keeps giving me ideas!

Glasses, Spectacles, whatever they’re called, they’ve been a part of my life ever since I was ten years old. Life suddenly stopped being blurry and, even when I was sat at the back of the class, I was able to read the maths questions on the board. Why it took until I was ten for anyone to realise I was short-sighted, is a story for another day: but, since then, I have always needed “specs.”

I did not intend writing a poem about wildlife, and certainly not this poem. However, before my divorce, I did used to live in a place where foxes and deer, and other wild animals, would emerge from the wood to rest, play and (at least the herbivores) eat. Not the cheeriest of pieces, but I hope you enjoy it none-the-less.

Like many old churchyards, my local parish church, St Michael’s on Greenhill, Lichfield, has its share of graves and memorials with connections to history. Near our War Memorial, is a plaque commemorating a soldier from an earlier war. John Browne served in the Crimean War and was present, and took part in, the charge of the Light Brigade.

The below is adapted from an article I wrote for St Michael’s Parish Magazine.

A nice, quiet holiday. That was the plan. In my mind I had it all sorted. Maybe the economy overnight flight to Cape Town might not be the height of luxury, but once I was in the Cape, it was four and five star all the way. It just didn’t turn out that way. For a start, I didn’t realise my holiday companions would mostly be Irish …