Peter (Barra) McGachy died on Friday 13 th December. I’m sure there’s a joke in there somewhere. Barra was a bit of a bard, one of life’s storytellers. He would be saying, ‘C’mon, Friday the 13 th for fuck sake’. He’d one of those gritty voices that came from a mineshaft below his feet and echoed up through his body. His throaty laugh was a bit like that, an invitation to stop fucking about, get a drink and enjoy your life. And his moustache,...

I know this man. He is one of us. All of these people are people I know. Good and bad, flawed humans. Fergal Keane is much the same age as me. His father was a well-known actor and his mother a school teacher. Ireland was a generation behind us when he was born, in a different times zone, gripped by a dangerous nostalgia of what could have been, a different kind of Ireland, one that was ruled by priests and hypocrisy. Fergal’s father was an...

A couple of real crackers for you this week (pun definitely intended). Our Poem of the Week is 'Exhaling Stars' by the-real-jaw. Beautiful use of language and symbolism together with sharp observation of the world in all its bleak reality. It's a tremendous piece of work: https://www.abctales.com/story/real-jaw/exhaling-stars Story of the Week goes to Part 4 of Canonette's marvellous 'UV'. Another example of sharp observation married wtih humour...

https://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/m000bynq/storyville-facing-francos-crimes-the-silence-of-others What is justice? Here’s a narrative of a statue of Christ in Spain, Italy, Germany, England or sunny California in which the hands get lopped off, a bomb, a bullet or vandalism. St Teresa of Avila, who founded an order of Carmelites nuns in her native Spain, declared Christ has no hands but ours. That was the message. Here’s another story...

I shared a post on Facebook (Fakebook) from Harriet Goodale which just about sums up how I feel. I can’t wait to shut up about what an absolute fucking abomination the Tory party is. If you’re still voting conservative, now fully aware of the consequences, I concede defeat. Congratulations, you’re a prize cunt. Four million destitute children with empty bellies salute you. Have fun remortgaging your house when your appendix bursts. I hope they...

I am left wing. Let me explain what that means. The term comes from a reference to the French National Assembly (1789-91) where the nobles sat on the president’s right and the commons (commoners) to the left. I am also part of the proletariat, Proletarri in Ancient Rome, Roman citizens who owned little or no property. I am working class and allowed to put an X on a piece of paper every four or five years and told this is called democracy. My...

Betfred Cup Final (what we used to call the League Cup Final before the rights were sold for hard cash). I know how Steven Gerrard must feel. I had two quid on Julien for first goal and lost the bookies line. Going further back than that I remember when Celtic used to play Rangers off the park during the Tommy Burns era, only for Brian Laudrup to gallop up the park and score the winner and the flying pig, Andy Goram, to make save after save...

https://unsplash.com/@olga_konono In the bestseller written by Elizabeth Strout called My Name is Lucy Barton , the protagonist idealises another writer called Sarah Payne. That’s a long sentence. I’ll break it down. Elizabeth Strout is Lucy Barton is Sarah Payne. ‘All life amazes me,’ is the last line in the book. And in the Buddhist world we all are each other (until we reject the illusion of Suchness and reach the shore of Nirvana, which isn’...

Thank you ABCTales for bringing us cool respite from the stinging world. Yet again there's been a host of wonderful writing. My first choice is something of a conundrum - is it a story - is it a poem? Whichever, it's disarming and exhilarating - the writer has categorised it as a story - so I'm going with that! Story of the week is Minor Prophet by Lithiviaoblivia: https://www.abctales.com/story/lithiviaoblivia/minor-prophet Poem of the week is...

I’ve a tendency to read short books like this quickly. I should have reviewed it quickly too, when it was fresh baked in my mind. I thought the last line in the book was ‘My name is Lucy Barton.’ Wrong. On the same page, (three from the end). ‘But this is my story.’ A first-person account of her life. ‘And yet it is the story of many. It is Molla’s story, my college roommate’s. It may be the story of the Pretty Nicely Girls. Mommy, Mom!’ The...