Parson Thru's blog

I'm reading the Guardian for the first time in years (any newspaper for the first time in years, really). Only problem being that you only really need one a week. Maybe it was the frustration of throwing away so many daily papers largely unread that put me off the whole idea of newspapers. Maybe it's the "news" bit of the "paper" that I don’t need. Fascinating articles. Still engrossed in yesterday's, which I bought at the station for parking...

I've been a little weary of late. Life is hectic but, like a stormy autumn night, the sky clears occasionally and a perfect moon washes the landscape clean and calm. Its silver light is perhaps the most soothing of all. Soothing like the voice of James Joyce playing in my head as I read from "Dubliners" in the stillness of my room, wind whispering the trees outside. Hushed by the waves less than a mile beyond. Propped awkwardly against the...

The pen A half-decent Biro (like this BIC) costs a few scraps of change and yet has the power of contract, attorney, signs death-warrants, treaties, or can just record these thoughts. But its power is also revealed when it's stolen by someone you thought you knew. Confirmed when he does it again, but this time you point it out. The song A song can transport me. The right one always will. Maybe not at first hearing, but in time. Then I take that...

Today, I drove a very long way to talk to some people for an hour. Then I drove a very long way back again. It was deemed a good thing to do. The people applauded spontaneously. I felt embarrassed and thanked them. I hired a car through work to get me there. It was almost new and as big as a bus. Tonight, I just drove my own car to a local garage and posted the keys through what I hope is the right letterbox. If not, the neighbour of the garage...

Awoke terrorised by an injured crow with loud-hailer outside the window. On closer inspection, it turned out to be a refuse lorry reversing into a nursing home. Still a little unsettling. Over breakfast, considered the day ahead and tried to recall the lyrics to "It's All Over Now Baby Blue". It's still not daylight as I head down the hill to the station. Daylight may not make it today. What is rain, but an opportunity to unfold my Parisienne...

Just in case we don't meet again for a while

You see, being a fantasist can be a problem. Unless you write. In which case it can be a good thing. Maybe. It means you might not sleep too much. You might fall out with people who used to like you – before you started going crazy. You might have a little trouble holding down a job – although I still try. I’ve held down jobs through worse. And anyway, there’s always the outside chance you’ll get noticed and someone will start making some money...

Not sure what I am again. I often wonder what I’d be, if push came to shove. Is it out of date and old-fashioned to talk about class? About where I came from? Where I am now? Is it still class? I don’t know. Maybe it’s about education. Life-chances and all that. I look around here, at the people around the supermarket and see a lack of both. Are they working class? I don’t think they are anymore. And some of the people I deal with now. The other...

Dear all, Last night my account clicked over 100,000 reads. My writing mate, D, and I have some passionate discussions about "reads", "hits " and the near-obsession that can develop - checking from the confines of Trap 1 in the toilet at work to keep up with developments. D's got a point I suppose. Maybe I'm comparing with a time when all my scribbles ended up going no further than a pile of old battered note books in a dusty pile under the bed...