Sometimes (all too rarely) supporting Coleraine FC can be very sweet #OKBAWA #feelslikewewonthecup

movie.mov Watch on Posterous

Porting in June

Sometimes I wish I had my DSLR surgically attached. But I suppose an iPhone can be handy. Taken on the prom at Portstewart on a hardy Sunday night.

Best name for a greasy spoon ever.

We were driving through the centre of London on Sunday when we came upon a quality name for a greasy spoon. If only it were open...

Best name for a greasy spoon ever.

We were driving through the centre of London on Sunday when we came upon a quality name for a greasy spoon. If only it were open...

My Shakespeare 

by Kate Tempest

He’s in every lover who ever stood alone beneath a window,
In every jealous whispered word,
in every ghost that will not rest.
He’s in every father with a favourite,
Every eye that stops to linger
On what someone else has got, and feels the tightening in their chest.

He’s in every young man growing boastful,
Every worn out elder, drunk all day;
muttering false prophecies and squandering their lot.
He’s there – in every mix-up that spirals far out of control – and never seems to end, even when its beginnings are forgot.

He’s in every girl who ever used her wits. Who ever did her best.
In every vain admirer,
Every passionate, ambitious social climber,
And in every misheard word that ever led to tempers fraying,
Every pawn that moves exactly as the player wants it to,
And still remains convinced that it’s not playing.

He’s in every star crossed lover, in every thought that ever set your teeth on edge, in every breathless hero, stepping closer to the ledge, his is the method in our madness, as pure as the driven snow – his is the hair standing on end, he saw that all that glittered was not gold. He knew we hadn’t slept a wink, and that our hearts were upon our sleeves, and that the beast with two backs had us all upon our knees as we fought fire with fire, he knew that too much of a good thing, can leave you up in arms, the pen is mightier than the sword, still his words seem to sing our names as they strike, and his is the milk of human kindness, warm enough to break the ice – his, the green eyed monster, in a pickle, still, discretion is the better part of valour, his letters with their arms around each others sholuders, swagger towards the ends of their sentences, pleased with what they’ve done, his words are the setting for our stories – he has become a poet who poetics have embedded themselves deep within the fabric of our language, he’s in our mouths, his words have tangled round our own and given rise to expressions so effective in expressing how we feel, we cant imagine how we’d feel without them.

See – he’s less the tights and garters – more the sons demanding answers from the absence of their fathers.
The hot darkness of your last embrace.
He’s in the laughter of the night before, the tightened jaw of the morning after,
He’s in us. Part and parcel of our Royals and our rascals.
He’s more than something taught in classrooms, in language that’s hard to understand,
he’s more than a feeling of inadequacy when we sit for our exams,
He’s in every wise woman, every pitiful villain,
Every great king, every sore loser, every fake tear,
His legacy exists in the life that lives in everything he’s written,
And me, I see him everywhere, he’s my Shakespeare.

http://myshakespeare.worldshakespearefestival.org.uk/gallery/my-shakespeare-by-kate-tempest/

The centre of the known universe

These markers used to line the roads recording the steps of the lonely Ballymoney pilgrims making their way for their annual holiday in Portrush. Every mile they could knock 1 off the miles to go side and add 1 to the miles travelled.

They're not very practical for the cars that make the journey now at 60mph.  I'm not sure how much information can be gleaned from a 1ft block of cast iron sitting in a hedge at that speed.  I can sort of understand why they were replaced by 10ft sheets of reflective metal on posts. 

They were beautiful though.

in this ever changing world in which we're signing

When is it too late to be working on your signature, your autograph, your mark?

I only ask because I had a free period today and was planning on using it to sign off my year twelves’ coursework. Over the course of an hour my signature changed dramatically - not just the style; even the content changed. I went from Sam, to Samuel, to S, to SJ. I settled on SJ; it has gravitas.

I’m in my thirties. Should I still be developing my signature at this late stage in my life? By now my abiding identity should be firmly ensconced in my psyche. It actually worries me that I am still experimenting with this. Will my bank recognise my new identity? Will programmes from shows I’ve performed become less valuable due to my autograph being outdated?

Of course it’s not the first time it’s changed. I would be surprised if any of you had the same signature you had as a teenager. As I look through these coursework cover sheets I’m hoping most of my year twelves will have a revisal before they reach adulthood – some of their’s are shocking; like a parrot with a drink problem wrote them in a bit of a rush.

Personally I’m hoping this latest incarnation will be my last (for a while.) I have quite a lot of signing to do in the next few months – in work and beyond the school gates. Hopefully I can keep the same design until that’s all done. My credit cards are coming near replacement dates – so it would be nice to have a fairly common theme for each of them. I have sold a photograph of some trees and the buyer wants me to sign it. It would be terrible if I can’t decide how it should look for that. I can’t afford to make twenty copies of the print to experiment on.

It’s not just me who will be affected. One of my pupils is on report for bad behaviour. This means he carries round a piece of paper and receives a comment on his behaviour and work in every lesson. I commented and signed his page this morning – and then I had him again in the afternoon. He noticed the variation in my signing but said nothing – just left looking confused. That’s ok then – that makes two of us.