Eurosceptic takedown

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The Stone Roses in Marple

Made of Stone, the Shane Meadows film on the Stone Roses, was on telly last week. It brought back loads of memories about this important and totemic band. I never managed to see them live; I was living abroad the first time round and didn't fancy braving the flying bottles of piss at Heaton Park.

I don't actually think Ian Brown has a good enough voice to carry a big concert - he has the charisma and the Bez-like sense of timing that holds it together.

Anyway, towards the end of the film there's an interlude about the difficult days of recording Second Coming. Archive footage shows them arriving in a studio in Bury and hanging out at a house in Marple (above). Press cutting here and here pick up the story.

I froze the frame above and could recognise that view straight away - in fact, I narrowed it down to a small number of houses on Strines Road. Coincidentally, it's only a few hundred yards from where Tony Wilson grew up.

A little bit of digging has pinpointed the exact spot and that it was loaned to them by a guy called Derek Bull. There is no more to say, no more to pry. And there is no blue plaque. 

Ear Ere Records - the greatest record shop ever

Today is Record Store Day. It's brought back a flood of nostalgia for the greatest record store that ever existed.

Anyone who remembers 'Ear 'Ere In Lancaster knows what I mean. It was a cosier and friendlier version of the record shop in Nick Hornby's Hi-Fidelity. It was also where you could get tickets for gigs at all kinds of places around the North of England.

But from my early forays in there after school, to look meaningfully at prog album covers from the likes of Genesis and King Crimson, to the more serious record buyer I became it was the centre of my world.

I remember going in as a young teen one Saturday and looking through the racks. Some lad approached me and asked me what music I liked. He was probably just being friendly, but it seemed at the time to be the equivalent of the "got the time, mate?" question at a concert or football match. So I bolted and caught up with my Mum on Lancaster market. Back then there was a ferocious mob called the Marsh Mods who had lined up outside punk gigs and battered anyone in sight. Then there was the Morecambe Punks who would use belts and chains to mash anyone who crossed them. We developed myths and scare stories about the violence these gangs would inflict on you. Most of it wildly exaggerated, but it hung over you and was a caution not to stray too far from safety.

But in reality Ear Ere was safe neutral ground. As I became more confident (cocky?) I became a regular in there. You could listen on the headphones by the counter, get recommendations from the staff, especially one character who worked there called Malcolm. The manager was Roger, or to most of us "beardie". A nostalgic Facebook post earlier has elicited the comment from an old mate that these guys had as big a stamp on his musical DNA as John Peel.

You could put your name down to pre-order records and it was the first time I'd use a nickname rather than my surname with adults. I remember a few of us sneaking out at lunch break from school to buy Going Underground by The Jam in 1980. Swaggering back in with possession of the fastest selling single of that era.

I used to be in awe of people who would ask for rare records that they didn't have in stock, but would get the staff working hard looking through books and old stock lists and seeing if they could try and order it for you. They'd also sell fanzines,  a few t-shirts and badges, some they'd even give away, but mostly it was shifting units in the golden age of pop music.

And these plastic bags were such a status symbol around school. You'd cart your school books to lessons in an 'Ear 'Ere bag, the height of cool, but woefully impractical for such a purpose.

I don't buy much music these days, but I fervently stick to the principle that the local record store is a totem of a civilised culturally advanced society. So when I want a new album by a band I still follow slightly slavishly - Elbow, Manics, etc - then Piccadilly Records in Oldham Street, Manchester get my custom. I also love their devotion to new music and always sample something new from their top 100 of the year. It's hit and miss, but those moments of serendipity are what makes life interesting. It's what has always made life interesting - so on this day of all days, I raise a glass to the greatest record shop ever - Ear Ere in Lancaster. May perpetual light shine upon your memory.

Kevin Sampson's Extra Time

All football fans have their own culture, their own stock of stories and their own memories. These drip through Kevin Sampson's Extra Time - A Season in the Life of a Football Fan, which has been lurking in my reading pile and I've just finished. His club is Liverpool.

First up, it's entertaining, honest, funny and really well written. You'd expect that from Kevin Sampson and I'm on record of liking the cut of his jib.

We've been reminded this week how much Hillsborough is etched on the psyche of Liverpool's loyal core of fans.
But reading a book that details the experiences of a group of fans through 1997 and 1998, I was struck by how little Hillsborough seems to feature in their thoughts and pub discussions. It was written 9 years after the tragedy and merits only a few scant paragraphs during the trip to watch the Reds at Sheffield Wednesday, where home supporters are wearing novelty hats produced by The Sun newspaper. On that observation the anger bursts through. The sense of injustice grows, then Jack Straw says there are no further grounds for an enquiry. But then no more. It simmers, one imagines, rather than boils over. I guess grief does that.

That we're only gripping the importance of justice now, 16 years later, is staggering.

Manchester's next generation of leaders

We had a Downtown Leaders Lunch today. It’s part of a series of lunches where we ask leaders from the city to speak - that’s why there’s no apostrophe, my grammar pedant friends.
The speaker was billed as Sir Howard Bernstein, the chief executive of the city council, but he was unwell. He sent Sara Tomkins instead. Once I’d got over the disappointment and concern over Howard, I must admit I was really quite pleased. Not that Howard was ill - but that we can expose another civic leader to the very people who are drawn to the magnetism of Howard.
I wish I had a pound for every time I get told that Manchester would be lost without Sir Howard and Sir Richard Leese, the council leader. The theory goes that there is a talent vacuum beyond the two knights, and that their eventual retirement will expose a chasm. In a sense they are a remarkable double act, but I have hopefully seen enough to recognise that there’s something else going on.
It’s actually one of the mightiest forces of their leadership that they lead from the front. But also that they lead and inspire the small army of policy creators, delivery teams and political campaigners.
Sara is one of those. As the assistant chief executive for communications, customer and IT, her brief covers some crucial aspects of the council’s work. She spoke about the leadership of the local authority today - how a municipal culture of hard pragmatic politics (and Politics) encourages younger executives and officers to take risks and be innovative.
She also didn’t shy away from issuing a few challenges - property developers and planners need to think much, much more about the kind of digital infrastructure their buildings need. She also faced up to some tough questions over broadband vouchers, disruption caused by the Second City Crossing and traffic congestion.
I think everyone at the Grill on New York Street this lunchtime will have enjoyed what she had to say - they will have also left a little more confident that there are a generation of articulate younger leaders around with the right levels of intelligence and pragmatism to lead the city in the future.

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Blue tape is strangling small business

This is an Audioboo of a blog I did on "blue tape" the rules, restrictions and bureaucracy that businesses put on other businesses.

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Northern Rail franchise extended – why this may be good news, but probably won’t be

Happy commuters, pic stolen from Northern Rail's website

I am no fan of the shoddy service offered to commuters in the North of England by Northern Rail. The joint venture between Serco and Abellio has brought nothing to the experience or helped economic development in the region. But change is going to come – the clock is now ticking down towards the next franchise period, just as this one has been extended for a couple more years. Hopefully the terms of the next deal will look very different indeed – a longer period and the benefits of the Northern Hub investment.

The Rail North plan envisages a larger franchise integrated with the local transport authorities of Greater Manchester and  beyond – that should have the benefits of integrated ticketing, electrification, better rolling stock and more services – in short, a service fit for purpose. 

It is surprising how little political traction this has. It remains a bold move - an important devolutionary step. Longer term it could also lead to franchises being run by a consortium of local transport authorities. 

I do find it laughable that the Rail Minister Stephen Hammond has set Northern Rail short term targets for improved customer satisfaction. The first thing the management should do is measure peak time punctuality separately from the empty rattlers ambling along on time during the afternoon. Then they should massively rethink the brutal approach to ticket checking at most stations by their G4S bouncers – it is humiliating, unfriendly and intimidating.  But they will argue it catches fare dodgers effectively. I believe it is counter-productive.

I also worry when I read the managing director of Northern Rail, Alex Hynes, saying efficiency and service are his priorities and those dreaded words – “more with less”.

The Department for Transport must also insist there is no further running down of trains to the South as First TranspennineExpress have had to give trains to Chiltern. I have noticed more and more trains are made up of just two carriages in the evenings. Maybe it’s a coincidence, but it has to stop.

Do you trust the press? and how far should they be tamed?

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The problem with the Co-op

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Straight White Male by John Niven

This is John Niven's best book and marks his real maturity as a writer. The strength of Kill Your Friends was the laugh out loud portrayal of the horrors of the music industry, building on that as a backdrop for a story about busking it and depraved ambition.

This goes further. You still root for a flawed central character - Kennedy Marr a self-centred and hedonistic writer who turns to English academia. But while Stelfox in Kill Your Friends is utterly beyond redemption and without a shred of a scruple, Marr never particularly does harm. Success comes relatively easy to him, even though he runs away from his responsibilities and is led by his urges.

But the skill of the book is to change pace and mood - to remain consistent to the character and how he thinks through his crises, but it is also incredibly tender in its final third when he tells stories of his family and of death and how Kennedy confronts the misery of his own recklessness. It's a delight at times and I genuinely couldn't put it down. John Niven is definitely one of my favourite writers at the moment.

House of Cards Season 2 - theatre of the absurd - spoilers aplenty

We rattled through season two of House of Cards and finished it last night. Yes, the conclusion was inevitable, yes, Kevin Spacey is truly brilliant as Frank Underwood. And yes, like everyone else who has reviewed it, it wasn't as good as the first series.

For me, the big problems lie in the rushed script and storyline. So many questions are left unasked, never mind unanswered.

Characters behave in irrational and erratic ways with no attempt to explain - like the President resigning, like the FBI doing a deal with the ludicrous hamster-stroking Gavin, like everything to do with Doug and Rachel. So much time and effort is expended on storylines which go nowhere - Christina getting fired for example, it was like they just forgot about her. The constant presence of a noisy and lively demonstration outside the Underwood residence added another hyperreal layer of nonsense.

Just about all characters had lines that you actually laugh out loud at, because they are THAT absurd. Jackie explaining why she has all those tattoos. Claire, well, pretty much everything she says.

A lot of the politics didn't ring true either - not that I'd know - but it had a feeling like it was the West Wing, but with scumbags. Series 3 will be more of the same with the added presence of the Assange-like Gavin. Yes, we'll watch it, but it won't be worth the wait.

There are two problems for all mini-series now, which House of Cards has helped bring home. First, they simply suffer from a poor comparison to Breaking Bad, The Wire and The Sopranos - the High Concept, the powerful characters, the acting. But secondly, because it's on box sets, you tend to binge watch these days. On old fashioned TV, there's a lingering when something is left hanging, a number of stop-you-in-your-tracks moments that you'd collectively dissect the next day. I don't think House of Cards would scrub up to that level of scrutiny to be honest. You just want to rush to the end to see what happens. Did I do that? You may think so, I couldn't possibly comment.

The Salford question - the answer is still Manchester

I've just been on BBC Radio Manchester talking to Mike Sweeney about whether Salford should call itself Manchester.

We covered a lot, summing up I'd say: The University of Salford attaching Manchester to its brand was wrong and wasn't thought through properly. The BBC, however, should make far more of the fact that Media City is in Manchester - a part of Manchester called Salford Quays - just as White City is in London, a part of London called Shepherds Bush.

Manchester's local leaders are in France this week at a show called MIPIM, promoting a global metropolitcan city - not Tameside, Salford, or Trafford  but Manchester, which is known globally. There is a global football brand known the world over - they are Manchester United, not the Trafford Red Sox.

If you were a Londoner from Islington, you'd be proud of it. But you'd be a Londoner first.

Mike asked me where I'm from and I said: "Marple - where Manchester meets the Peaks." It's a question of identity I think we need to consider. Notice I didn't say Stockport.

This is a debate that has been sparked by Evan Davis and his excellent programme Mind the Gap - London Versus the Rest and some additional points made in the pre-publicity for tonight's programme, aimed at getting a rise out of Ian Stewart. I blogged on the first episode - Mind the Gap - forget gimmicks like Manpool, the cities of the North need to be better connected.

Race with the Devil by Joseph Pearce

Those of us of a certain age and of a certain political persuasion will have had some run-ins with the far-right. Marching against the National Front in the 1970s and 1980s was an important part of your political education. Those of us who took an even more detailed interest in the people and personalities of the struggle will remember the name Joe Pearce. He was the leader of the Young National Front and the editor of Bulldog. One of the enemy.

I was a subscriber to Searchlight magazine for many years and rather enjoyed seeing the far-right fragment as bitterly as the far-left was capable of doing. It was also good to read of whistle-blowers and further startling revelations from deep inside the beast. Former fascist street warriors like Matthew Collins and Ray Hill properly turned the tables on their former comrades. Other names faded from view. One was Joe Pearce, who later resurfaced a biographer of GK Chesterton and had undergone a journey to the Catholic faith.

At this point some have thought that journey isn't a particularly long one. Indeed, Gerry Gable in Searchlight doesn't believe Pearce is for real. There's a piece where he describes the christian thinkers that Pearce has written about as notorious anti-semites. Frankly, this is bollocks.

Personally, I enjoyed most of the book. I wasn't impressed with how he referred to those protesting against the Front as "Marxists". The leadership of the Anti-Nazi League may have been, but most people who hated what he stood for were just ordinary decent youth.

One of the best tales was when Jake Burns of Stiff Little Fingers took Pearce for a beer and tried to talk a bit of common sense to him. By showing him a bit of human love, he lit something in a life consumed by hatred and prejudice.

I'm a Catholic, but I can't claim to understand theology or the liturgy in the way Pearce does. Instead I do rather respect how he's chosen a path of life that boils down to the simplicity of the message.

Good luck to Rovers new signing Alan Myers

I see on Prolific North today that Alan Myers has joined Blackburn Rovers as communications chief. Every fan, I'm sure, wishes him well and hopes that he's able to do the job he's been employed to do. 

I remember him speaking at the 2012 North West Football Awards about the disgraceful treatment of Steve Kean by the Blackburn Rovers fans. Hopefully as his stated aim is to "engage" with the fans, he will have the opportunity to understand recent history a little better.

He said: "One of my first tasks will be to engage with the Rovers fans. I think it’s fair to say they’ve had a difficult time over the last few years, but that is changing now and I want to be part of that."

Maybe he could pop into the Darwen End and meet with the BRFC Action Group, who I was amazed to discover have an office in the Enterprise Centre, maybe that's where Shebby Singh is hiding.

I keep being asked if things have settled down at Rovers. Whether the Venky's have stabilised the ship. On one level, they have. There's no sign of Shebby Singh, loads of dead wood and high earners have been shipped out, though Rovers are still paying their wages, I hear. But the cost base is far in excess of any projected turnover. There will be a day of reckoning for all of this at some point.

Performances are patchy. Beating Reading offers a false dawn, but then losing to Bolton draws the curtains on that again.

I just hope Alan Myers doesn't have to open the excuses draw for anyone this weekend. There's an important game to win on Sunday. Quite how a new spin doctor is going to help us achieve that is beyond me, but it's the only meaningful game left this season.

This is How by MJ Hyland reviewed

When I reviewed Kevin Sampson's excellent move into crime drama, I applauded him for developing the layers and foibles of an important central character - the city of Liverpool. MJ Hyland does the exact opposite with this powerful and stark story of a young man. It isn't timed or placed - but I put the first part in Lytham and the second in a large institution in Manchester. You quickly realise once you've done so, that it really doesn't matter.

Without spoiling the plot it has a big turning point about a third of the way in - and essentially hinges on the first person account of the central character Patrick Oxtoby, an early twenties loner on the rebound from a break-up and distant from his parents.

Stripped to its raw dialogue, with sparse descriptions of places only as they enter two very narrow worlds as the central character sees them (high functioning autistic?) - it is a remarkable book.

Maria's writing style is direct, tight and relentlessly focuses on the state of mind of Patrick. Good writing takes you through that range of emotions - irritation, sympathy, disgust sometimes, but you do root for him.

I met Maria at a Manchester Literature Festival event I chaired a couple years ago and enjoy her how-to pieces which you'd expect are good, as a lecturer in the school of creative writing. I am thinking of registering on her weekend writing course and it's clear she's got great technique. No word is wasted.

So, this is another notch off the 2014 reading pile. I'll get a few other reviews up soon.

Happy Valentines #Love4MCR video produced by UKFast

This was great fun, loads of friends in this. Check out the Dad Dancing at about 1:20.

Updated showreel - hope you like it

A showreel for Michael Taylor, versatile and energetic events host,
journalist and producer. Includes interviews with Lloyd Dorfman of
Travelex, Fred Done of BetFred, Dame Eliza Manningham Buller former head
of MI5 and author Cass Pennant. Clients include: Deloitte, ICAEW,
Downtown in Business, GrowthAccelerator, Ear to the Ground, Rapport
Events, Journey9, Daisy Group, Grant Thornton and Insider Business TV.

Downtown Around the Table with Daniel Korski - David Cameron's enterpris...

A eulogy of love in memory of Hazel

It was the funeral of one of my best friends today. Hazel was my Dad's wife and his soul mate, she was Nana to our boys and my step-Mum since they married in 1983. I read the eulogy at St Paul's Church in Scotforth. Here it is.

--> We are here today to mourn and to celebrate the life of Hazel. Someone we all miss terribly. Someone it was a joy to love. I want this eulogy today to be about that.

About love.

What we all feel today is grief. It hurts. It twists, but the reason it does is because there’s a cost attached to a force much more powerful than our pain. Because that grief, our grief, is the price we pay for love.

The love of a wife. Of a mother, a sister, an auntie, a friend, a Nana, a mother-in- law.

And for me and Joanne, a wonderful step-Mum. Hazel was an inspiration to Rachel and I as we embarked upon that most thankless but rewarding of roles in modern family life.

A daughter, let’s not forget, who made her parents, Bob and Agnes, so very, very proud.

She may have been someone who you worked with. And you’ll have loved her.

Or even the shop staff at Marks and Spencer in Lancaster who greeted her with open arms every Christmas and Birthday as she’d return the sacks full of gifts so she could exchange them for something she really wanted!

And isn’t it true that whichever of those boxes you ticked there, and apologies if I missed one, that you also tick the friend one too. She was a true friend, a loyal friend, who was there for you whatever and whenever you needed her.

What an achievement, what a life’s work. To have lived a life so full of life and laughter, so full of love, to be so loved. And to have done so without any kind of edge whatsoever. Think about that.

All of us have loved Hazel in those different ways. And all of us miss her in those different ways too.  And today I hope I can remind each of you of the ways in which she touched your lives.

I hope to give us all some memories to share when we retire to the Fox and Goose later to celebrate her life.

Much in the spirit that Hazel and her oldest friend June would when they’d put the world to rights most Friday nights. One other difference though - you don’t have to smuggle in your own peanuts as they did.

I may go off on tangents… Wasn’t that an amazing storytelling gift Hazel had? But like her I hope I come back round to the point of this story – the heart and soul of who she was. And in her spirit too, I hope you will embrace, circulate and meet with new faces and welcome old friends, very much as Hazel always did – like her brother Harold – the outgoing wing of the Preston clan. She so impressed her shyer brother and sisters with her confident and illuminating presence at every party, every gathering she ever graced.

And yet there was a curious paradox with that. Someone who worried so much, who cared so much and was anxious everyone was alright, and not offended, could also be so fearless and carefree.

When I asked people in the family to share their memories some consistent themes cropped. Family, friendship, loyalty. And dancing.

Think about what that says about someone. A love of life and fun.

From the earliest years in Pilling, then by the time the family moved to Daisy Bank, Lancaster to be closer to Mr Preston’s job as the head gardener at The Moor Hospital.

Her sister May remembers the Queen’s Coronation in 1952 and how they both had a role in the celebrations  - as junior Morris Dancers.

How Peter was wowed by Hazel’s rock and roll moves, as everyone else in the room was as they stepped away to stand, stare and applaud.

And it was at dance classes where a 14 year old Hazel danced with a dashing lad called John Hudson, warming him up for her older sister.

And Angela tells me how when May eventually married John, that she graduated to the big girls room and shared a bed with Hazel, the big sister of the house. It meant dressing up in her sister’s stilettoes and covering for her when she’d sneak in late from a night bopping on the dancefloor at Morecambe Pier.

Andy recalls a holiday at Pwllheli Butlins in about 1975, when she won a can-can dancing competition, wooing the judges with a dandy pair of pop socks.

Happy times. Happy memories.

Hazel always had time for family. Back then, and as she always did thereafter. Coffee at Casa Baba on Cheapside on a Saturday with Angela.

And then in later years staying in touch via texting, Facebook and Skype.

Bridging ten time zones and talking regularly with her sister in Australia, and visiting there too – the royal visit with Angela, Peter and Pat - for May’s 60th.

Taught by the patient master and ever the early adopter of gadgets and widgets, “our Andrew”, she embraced new ways to share her love with friends.

Can a Mum have had a more devoted and loving son than Andrew? Hazel was so proud of what a gentle and lovely man he is, how he and Christine welcomed people into their home – as they have done all of our gang. But how their large group of friends so loved sharing Hazel’s company and she theirs.

And she was the devoted stand out Mother. When Andy set off with 20 other apprentices to embark on their training, two mums turned up at Irelands Coaches to wave them off.  Of course, one of them was Hazel. But only one climbed up on to the bus for a last goodbye.

But those Prestons – like us Taylors - have something of a dominant male gene. After Andy, Chris, Gavin and Craig, then David and Stephen - Angela then upset all the odds and gave birth to Claire. Hazel was so shocked she checked inside Claire’s nappy just to be sure.  And I think it’s fair to say they had a special relationship from that day to this.

But what a lovely sister she has been – supportive and there for them all when it mattered – through the ups and downs of life and particularly nearly five years ago to Peter and Pat – at the sad time of the deep loss of their son David.

I’ll remember a strong and resilient Hazel too – how she learnt new skills for career changes. From Storeys, to nursing, then from the NHS to the Nuffield. Embracing change – always learning, and supporting colleagues and always there for patients too.

Her mild OCD at making sure things were just so. Carrier bags folded and put away. Curtains drawn just so. I remember her washing up at our disgusting student flat in Manchester. Tackling a pile of plates that contained several new life forms as yet undiscovered by biology.

And how remarkably well she embraced being a Grand Parent. To our five boys Joe, Max, Louis, Matt, and Elliot and to Joanne’s three Jamie, Ben and Harry, she was a terrific Nana.

Jamie tells me tales of how his mates would take over the garage, doing up cars, making a racket, spilling oil and creating a bit of a mess. How Nana would give them a mild telling off, but then bring them a plate a butties and to share a joke and a laugh with them.

I asked our eldest Joe what I should say today and he said: “Just tell everyone how lovely she was.”

These are tales of family love. And I told you I’d go off on a tangent.

Hazel entered my life when she first started going out with my Dad. Two lost souls found each other. From that first romantic date when he picked her up - in his pick up – the old romantic - it was a real love story.

Whatever misfortunes had fallen on them – fate certainly turned its hand in bringing them together and they really, truly found their soul mates.

Our memories, all your memories of Stewart and Hazel will serve us all for the rest of our lives as a lesson in how to build a lasting, deep and loving relationship based on respect and trust. Or as my Dad said, the two words that make the secret formula for a happy marriage – “Yes, Hazel.”

Dancing too. Indeed, my memories of the lovers, at the start of their wonderful 30 year marriage, is smooching to Renee and Renata’s Save Your Love at their joyful and raucous wedding party at the Boot and Shoe.

How they were with each other, so devoted, so complementary, so easy and so in love.

Hazel was a real “people person”.

She was such fun to be around, whatever the occasion. Be it the Milk Kitters Ball or just a night out over a bar snack in Winmarleigh with Peter and Joyce, or Kellett with Peter and Pat, or round at Spencer and Sheila’s or at Ian and June’s. Or on a long walk with her sister in law, my Auntie Elaine.

How she’d talk to anyone, be engaged and ever so interested in meeting new people and hearing their stories.

In recent years I remember two lovely occasions with them both – one at the Albert Dock in Liverpool supporting me at a book launch. The other watching me wearing a silly hat and a gown at Preston Guild Hall for a ceremony for the University of Central Lancashire.

 I was proud of how Hazel circulated and met people around those rooms. MPs, professors, editors, Lords.  Some of them right up themselves, to be fair. But the point is this. Nothing and no-one phased her. And rightly so.

On my Dad’s mantlepiece – is a card to my Dad from May’s husband John, her brother-in-law, which summed it up for me.  

It says: “The time spent up at “the field” were very special to me.

“You know what, I reckon me and you are lucky to have married those two fantastic sisters.”

How right he was. How right he is.

There are a lot more cards on that mantelpiece and a full church today. That says it all.

And now she’s gone.

A friend of mine, a Catholic priest, had these words of comfort for me when we were in bits and in grief recently.

“It’s just crap isn’t it?” he said. (That’s obviously not official scripture or anything).

But it summed up how we’ve all been feeling and how we’ve been entitled to feel. But we have the opportunity today to reflect not just on a rotten year, but to celebrate a wonderful life full of our own love stories.

For how lucky we must feel today.

And to actually quote scripture this time, from Matthew’s record of the Beautitudes of Christ:

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”

And that’s what I hope we feel today, blessed that we are gathered to remember someone so special. Blessed to be together.

Blessed to have loved and honoured to have been loved.

Good writing - less is more

I love this list of 10 rules of writing from the late great Elmore Leonard. I was reminded to share it after I read an excellent blog by my pal Neil Tague. 

The link is here.

A flavour is here: "Time is a truly precious commodity, thus brevity when it comes to writing is, to my mind, something to be treasured. There are loads of US writers I won’t go near, despite a welter of recommendations, because I really can’t be bothered with another bloated, overly wordy attempt at writing the Great American Novel. It’s as if once a writer has established a reputation and can be considered “box office” their work can’t be touched by an uppity editor. Balls to that – most novels could lose 50 pages at least without it having any detrimental effect. Films too, but let’s not go there."

Less is more.