The Dust Diaries
Winter Hill/Rivington Pike
The television mast atop Winter Hill rises like a sentinel gazing vacantly down on my small car whenever Small Keefe and I are doing the school run. It’s visible from just about everywhere in the North West of England, and I used to think that it was so named because it so high that … Continue reading
Bleasdale Circle, Lancashire.
Billy Connolly, talking about Stonehenge and other such mysterious monuments, suggests that there should be a sign of honesty next to each one. “We have no idea what this is”, he urges authorities to confess, “please try and leave it as you found it”. Bleasdale Circle, ten miles or so north of Preston, actually has … Continue reading
One foot in front of the other. Repeat until dead.
Some weeks begin with damned hard work, alone, unpaid, and in isolation, and end with you sitting in your pants, broadcasting to the entire nation. Writing can be a thankless task. Whether it’s a song, a poem, or an entire novel, the one thing you can’t afford to do at any point during the … Continue reading
Stepping into the past….
… is not as easy to do as you think. Take, for example, the picturesque small town of Ribchester, a nice couple of hours ride from my front door. Bedecked in history, blessed with a set of Roman ruins, and an apparently thriving artistic community, it’s a no – brainer to head there on a … Continue reading
Everything is amplified…
…when mist descends properly over a town. Not visually, of course, but the familiar sounds of everyday suddenly take on a sinister air, echoing out of the mist towards you and filling your mind with uncomfortable thoughts. These pictures were taken back in March, when the fog filled the street outside my window and … Continue reading