I glanced at my phone some 10 seconds early, and turned off the alarm as I leant my guitar against a nearby tree. Turning to see how people in the fairly busy market were behaving, I could see that most people had come to a halt, some it seemed frozen mid-action, and a definite hush had descended on the town. To be sure, some people carried on regardless, apparently oblivious of the stillness around them. Mostly though, small groups, couples and single figures alike remained still and absorbed in silent reflection.

A small group of pigeons were bustling around each other in front of the town hall. At almost exactly 11.02am, a white dove swooped in low across the square and landed among the pigeons. A second later, a trader shouted, “…apples 49p a pound…”, and everyone resumed talking and moving.

None of us could have scripted such a scene.

Originating post: white dove

Henry VIII is often popularly viewed as a lovable rogue, a champion of wine, women and song. In fact he was a monster, who set a precedent for the sort of self centred greedy bastards who have been running this country ever since. Marrying 6 times, he pioneered a complete disregard for the sanctity of marriage.

Central to his Reformation manoeuvres was the dissolution of the monasteries, who until then had provided for the impoverished in the form of land for them to cultivate and live on. This land was taken away and given to his cronies, creating a new landed gentry beholden to the crown. It is claimed that a fifth of England’s landed wealth was redistributed in this way. Suddenly there were tens of thousands of dispossessed poor with nowhere to go, and no means of support.

Henry had created a new underclass. This alienated much of the population outside London and led to a northern uprising, the Pilgrimage of Grace comprising some 30,000 rebels. Their leader Robert Aske was arrested, charged with treason, and executed along with some 200 of the rebels. This put an end to the disturbances.

How was such a fiend allowed to wield such absolute power? To this day the English are accomplished at murmuring and complaining, but have little enthusiasm for revolutionary action. So the prevailing bullies go about their nasty business, encouraging the population to drink up and forget about it. Cheers mate…..

Originating post: remembering St John Fisher and the monstrous King Henry VIII

There were a few sympathetic messages about the Japanese disaster. The rest were as follows; invitations to gigs, dinner plans, complaints about partners, “I’m so lonely….”, an offer of ukelele lessons….you get the picture.

Its hard to say if this is reassuring or deeply disturbing. A bit of both I guess. Life goes on, as I’m sure we would all want it to. What can we do? If you think prayer makes a difference, as I do, then a few minutes praying for the many people affected would be time well spent.

Originating post: banality & disaster

Not for the first time I am aware that what I am denying myself is all stuff I’m better off without anyway. So apart from all this detox, I am planning to spend more time praying or helping other people. Which it has to be said, will also improve my well being.

In some ways, Lent is a time to get a glimpse of a better life one could enjoy all year round.

Originating post: Ash Wednesday

Much has changed. Then it was cheaper, more dangerous, funkier….The likes of me could afford to live here. Today it is very different. Yet much of its unfathomable centre remains unchanged. A friend once described it as ‘….like a big old snake….regularly shedding its skin, but continuing to crawl and slither on…’.

I’m sure I have nothing original to say about it. But it continues to affect me, whether I’m here or not. To me it represents a tumultuous crossroads between the old and the new, a resounding now that includes yesterday and tomorrow, but is bogged down in neither.

In a way I cannot begin to explain, I am more able to be myself here than anywhere I have ever been. This may seem fanciful and sentimental. So be it. I am grateful to the town and its wonderful people for helping me feel this way.

I have been in the US since November 20, and in New York since December 6. I fly home to Cambridge England on Wednesday Jan 5.

Originating post: my spiritual home

Originating post: not feeling great

At different times, two of us said, “I dont want to die in….”, followed by our current places of residences. I have lived in the same town on and off for many years. Its a town I know too(?) well, and don’t like living in very much. Several times I have been geared up to take my leave, and something has happened to postpone my departure. Still I remain convinced that the day will come.

I am not at all convinced that leaving will be the antidote to my dissatisfaction. Although there are a number of places I believe I would be happier in, I don’t know that I will ever find somewhere to settle. Perhaps I am doomed to wander back and forth until the time and place of my demise present themselves.

What seems clearer than ever this morning is that for all of us the location is not the problem. If we were living our lives to the best of our ability, doing only the things most important to us, then where we were wouldn’t concern us. I am loathe to admit it, but I remain up to my neck in procrastination.

So although I remain as determined as ever to move, in the mean time I pray for the resolve to change my life right where I am. I can do better, and that being the case, there is no excuse for not doing so.

When death comes to claim me, I pray my house is in order, and I am in the middle of doing things I believe to be good. Then where I am at that time really wont matter.

Originating post: I don’t want to die here

In these dire times it may seem both foolhardy and a little sick to covet and own such a thing. Like many people, despite serious reservations, I have accepted that for the moment I cannot do my thing without a car.

Throughout my life, I have owned old cars. Usually I am the final owner. That being the case, I have mostly had decent old cars. Why drive an old Ford when you can drive an old Volvo? An automatic diesel Mercedes has always seemed to me the very best car I could ever hope for. Now I have one!

So welcome, Maud, into our family. Your superior engineering and the very comfortable ride you provide are much appreciated. We shall do our best to maintain and care for you in the times to come. Long may you run.

Originating post: Maud

My family moved to Cambridge in 1967, the summer of love(!). At seventeen and fresh out of boarding school into a student town full of pubs, my drinking career took off without a hitch. For the next several years, despite passionate affairs with most of the available recreational drugs, drink remained the undisputed protagonist in my hedonistic heart.

I moved to London, then the streets of Paris, where hours of playing music every day began in earnest. Still a drink of some kind was never far away. Life’s essentials were reduced to a minimum as all surplus funds were offered up at the altar of Bacchus. Fortified with ‘Dutch courage’, I embarked on one adventure after another throughout my 20s. Having lived to tell the tale, I cannot honestly say I regret my alcoholic exuberance. Without the booze, I may never summoned up the nerve to do many of the things I did.

Nonetheless, as I turned 30, though my lifestyle barely skipped a beat, I began to suspect that my tireless enthusiasm for intoxication was perhaps a little misguided. So I began to take short breaks from the drink. At first this was a miserable business. So ingrained in my psyche was the daily intake of something alcoholic, that the lack of it seemed a pointless denial of my essential nature. Despite moments of clarity, usually early in the morning, these brief periods of sobriety achieved nothing.

In 1982 I moved to New York, and a year later my twin sons were born. By this time I had managed once to stay dry for 6 months. During this period, for the first time I had glimpses of a life beyond or without alcohol. I could begrudgingly accept that I was a nicer person, less prone to anger, and less self centred. I also saw that I was far more able to rise to the challenges of improving as a musician, of doing my job more effectively. I realised that I was never going to write anything of lasting value under the influence of alcohol. And perhaps most of all, I could see that whatever parenting skills I could muster were bound to be handicapped by booze. Still I found it very difficult to sustain, particularly in the late night bars and clubs my line of work took me to. So I began drinking again, with a vengeance.

This pattern established itself for the next 20 years or so. I would give up for up to 6 months, then fall off the wagon with a bang. Feast or famine. Finally in late 1997 I had to admit to myself that what was left of my brain was turning to mush thanks to beer and its pals. In early 1998 I stopped and didn’t touch a drop for three and a half years. For the first year or so I smoked pot nearly every day. Eventually I had to concede that I had just substituted one drug for another. Also, I was not helping myself smoking every day, especially as a singer. So I stopped that too.

This was new territory. As the months went by, I barely thought about drinking any more. My brain was clear and full of ideas. I was obliged to admit I had been regarding life and human society through blinkered vision. I was now appreciating moments and details in a whole new way. There was more simple joy in my life!

I went to a couple of AA meetings but I did not feel comfortable. I am full of respect for what they offer and how they have helped so many people. It just was not my cup of tea. What I agree with them about is that no one can beat addiction on their own. It was during this period that I began revisiting my Christian faith.

Thanks mostly to my mother’s tireless, devout example, I had never entirely abandoned my belief in God. As a teenager intent on having as much fun as possible, I turned my back on my Catholic upbringing, and gave myself up to pursuing my own version of the rock and roll lifestyle. Still, when it suited me I turned to God, or at least acknowledged in my mind his undeniable presence.

There will be another time to chronicle in detail my journey for the last 11 years towards a better understanding and relationship with God. However I can think of no explanation for the transformation in my attitude to drink other than that I have been blessed with supernatural guidance.

When my mother died, I quite suddenly began drinking again. I drank a lot, but even so it was not the same as before. I had come to realise how much I enjoyed NOT drinking and treasured the time thus spent. In the last several years I have drunk less and less to the point where now I might have a drink every few weeks or so, in celebration of something or other, and maybe even have a bit of a party on that day! But I never drink the next day, and on a day to day basis, I am happier being sober and enjoying all the benefits of that.

In the bad old days, I more or less refused to suffer a hangover, and any time I awoke with one, I’d jump back in the river of booze as soon as possible. It took me a very long time to wake up to the fact that postponing suffering of this kind merely ensures greater suffering down the line. For me it is similar to the way society encourages us to work hard to acquire and maintain acceptable levels of comfort. La Grande Illusion!

In his most readable autobiography, ‘Music is my Mistress’, Duke Ellington writes of a moment in his late 20s when after a particular bout of partying he resolved to ‘retire undefeated’. Later in the book he describes enjoying vodka and caviar in some exotic place. This does not indicate that he had weakened his resolve, but rather that it was no longer a habit.

Retire undefeated. I like that.

Originating post: to drink or not to drink

Originating post: vying for position