Humour to the rescue by all three of us

Donald Trump has certainly attracted more than his fair share of press and media coverage in recent days; to the extent that it’s almost impossible to find any sort of fresh slant on the man. It seems that it has been left to the glitterati of Hollywood to achieve the kind of satire that he deserves. If Alec Baldwin’s impersonation is a jewel, Melissa McCarthy’s turn as Sean Spicer is a sparkling diadem. Inspired by them, we wanted to find our own way to lampoon Trump and his administration and, after a somewhat… Read More

Wallace Stevens* or Nothing by Trevor Plumbly

The Snow Man Relaxation is important and I’m reliably informed by wiser heads that doing nothing is a vital part of taking things easy and indeed it could enhance longevity. I’m always in for a few extra years so I thought I’d dig a bit deeper to see if there was an easy path to delay the last ride in the box. However, I’ve discovered, courtesy of Mr Stevens, that unless you’re a snowman it’s bloody hard to do nothing, though I’ve known some who thought doing nothing was a worthwhile career… Read More

RIP Alf by Trevor Plumbly

The Moving Finger Writes… Tennyson was the pick of the romantics; he always seemed to be able to chuck a bit of mythology and tragedy in the pot and knock up a winner. It’s not generally known to my selective pool of readers, but, as a lad, I did pen the odd verse. Not your dead Sheila’s regatta stuff, more gut wrenching angst. I wasn’t published so those rummaging through second hand bookshops, hoping to stumble across a copy of these gems, are doomed to disappointment. I regarded these early outpourings as… Read More

Out of Sight by Trevor Plumbly

On the Other Side I must confess to having been fairly ambivalent about the plight of blind folk till I joined their ranks. Sure, they were around, but not really part of my world; like most, I was happy to give a few dollars of conscience money on appeal days just as I did with all the other causes that didn’t really affect me personally. My reaction to someone with a white cane was a sort of distant sympathy, along the lines of ‘Poor sod, but he/she seems to be getting about… Read More

A Bit of Poetry by Lord Byron

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep sea, and music in its roar: I love not man the less, but Nature more, From these our interviews, in which I steal From all I may be, or have been before, To mingle with the Universe, and feel What I can ne’er express, yet cannot all conceal.   From Childe Harold by Lord Byron