Halloween

My good friends The Buchans are spending halloween in New Orleans, which must be a treat and a half. I took this picture there in the summer - spooky or what? And I was thinking about New Orleans earlier this afternoon because I finally got my broken camera replaced and this picture was on the sim card. It is a seriously halloween town all the year round. I have a slight nostalgia for this time of year, dressing up like a witch, dookin', for apples, treacle scones dripping with treacle and hanging on a string from the ceiling, guising... it would be easy to say this only took place in the 'Oor Wullie' comic page in the Sunday Post, but that wouldn't be true. The first time I played a harmonica live was when I was guisin', only it was called a 'moothie', then. I am not particularly nostalgic for those days, but this morning the weather, overcast, dark and waiting for winter, reminds me of then.
The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; 
The rattling showers rose on the blast; 
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd 
Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd: 
That night, a child might understand, 
The Deil had business on his hand...

# 52

Brighton at 5 am is dark and quiet although at around 3 this morning I heard a sound I have never heard before. It sounded like a helicopter but wasn’t and I dashed to the window and saw it was a drone. It was the strangest thing, I mean why was it flying at that time, what was it doing, who was operating it. Strange and bizarre but I was too tired to really ponder it at that time - seeing as I was getting up at 4.45 in the pitch dark. Life has many imponderables and I confess I only flitted in and out of sleep afterwards, though I suspect its not the last I will ever see. But its the coldness of it that troubles me - unmanned and guided by someone who can’t see me watching it - or maybe watching me watching it, who knows?! One thing that did send a shiver down my spine though, was imagine living in a country where they are common place but also malicious and dangerous. Its a troubling thought and one that takes me back to yesterday’s news that T.B., now thinks he made mistakes in the Middle East. The world can often be a confusing and mixed up place, that is for sure; race, religion, gender and sexuality are not so confusing, why do we have to make them so - even I was racially abused on Saturday. Quite shook me really. But I move on. One of the great places in life is Sydney Street, Brighton on a Sunday, where I snapped this picture - these scooters are a common sight, all the mods love Brighton, but its a cheery thought to end this post before I drive to Winchester. Happy Monday, the clocks have changed to British Winter Time and the season of goodwill will soon be upon us, pity its just a season. This is a contemplatative piece of music and I love Levon Minassian, blame that drone.

# 51

Picture (c) Stephanie Morris

In the summer I was asked to write an article for Writing in Education, which is the official Journal of the National Association for Writing in education on The Boat project I am writing with Stephanie Morris, see: http://the-immigration-boat-story.com. This turned into three articles charting the progress of the project, which is even more exciting (the picture left is part of the work in progress). But now I have been asked to contribute to an exhibition and research project in Australia based on the Tampa boat story. What I am coming to realise is that research, art and collaborative creative projects are immensely fertile, challenging and relevant in this twenty-first century University environment and beyond - in fact especially beyond because it reaches a wider audience. Time to get on with work - I am writing a chapter on collaboration but I will write more of this as things progress - 'don't let your sail blow over, don't let your ship go down...' (Michael Mara).

# 50

There is a stillness about this time of morning. The picture, left, was Brighton at dawn yesterday morning and the seagull squawking didn't really disturb the quiet. And its dawn again, four-thirty rise and I have just had a message chat with Abbi in Oklahoma. Isn't new technology great. I can get up early and chat just as she is going to bed. And last night before going to bed I wrote another Ghost on Brooklyn Bridge, version # 3. I am rather enjoying this, and I can play banjo and mandolin on it too, which is always fun. So despite having to work all weekend there was some playfulness too - and I also managed to buy some new plectrums (where do they disappear too) and guitar strings and a couple of glass pieces which I like. So a working Sunday worked. But its Monday again, having had a walk along the promenade really early yesterday morning I snapped this bridge, again, on a late stroll last night, just to remind myself it hasn't fallen down. And I was listening to the most remarkable piece on my iPod. Scroll down to the bottom if you care to hear it, but its not for the faint-hearted. Its the beginning of the working week and this puts the lid on the weekend - Si, mi chiamano Mimi.

# 49

The Forth Bridge from Newhaven harbour

# 49, a 49th blog in this series, a forty-niner, a gold-rush miner, this is the last Sunday in the year before the change of the clocks and I am writing in the dark. Time is such a fickle ally because it never slows down enough to allow us to do all the things we need while allowing to do things we want. I have written a whole bunch of songs this year but they are still on scraps of paper with half finished lines and ideas. It would be easy to finish them, all it takes is a pencil a notepad (which I take everywhere) and... zip, there it goes again... time! I have worked most of the weekends this year, three hours before football yesterday and two hours after before cooking dinner; this morning has a folder of work to be read, a chapter to re-structure (and complete) and all around a family morning event. Maybe I could write the songs this evening. Two of the songs I have completed have the same title, 'A Ghost on Brooklyn Bridge'. I forgot I had used the title in another notebook so I ended up writing two and decided to keep the titles for different songs and give them a # 1 and # 2 and then I thought, maybe I should write a whole series of them. My friend B.Q., who just visited from Montana, has written a whole book of poems based on his 'hermit' character and its really good. We'll see. Happy Sunday morning, this is not the week the clocks change and just before I put the full stop on this post I can report the sun is coming up again - as long as that keeps happening all will be ok. Did I ever post this - I love it: