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Category Archives: Life, love and living
‘Love’? What’s that then?
Well, to start with it’s a strange word. It’s like ‘God’ – in the sense that it’s used an awful lot, abused an awful lot and misunderstood just as often. When I was a kid it simply confused me. Very … Continue reading
In the Face of the Unknowable
The highest that man can attain is Wonder…. (Goethe) Then wonder – that the wonder of these things is a mirror to the innermost you.
Truth – the Universal Nuisance. (Part I)
I was an only child, born into an ordinary working class family and brought up in my early years in the Midlands of the UK. The year I entered my teens we moved to a council house in a small … Continue reading
Thread of Life
A short walk from where I live, there is an attractive area of green, dotted with low trees, that lies between a road and a row of quite smart modernish houses. I was crossing that green the other day when … Continue reading
A Walk in the Park. Not.
The last time I posted on this blog was about four months ago, in early June – a little piece about life being rather like a ball of string. I left it a bit open-ended, with the intention of continuing … Continue reading
Life is a Ball of String
One of the oddest things about us human beings is that we are a puzzle to our own selves. We don’t know who we are. We’ve split the atom; we’ve been to the moon; one of us wrote Beethoven’s Fifth; … Continue reading
But what can I do?
There is at this time – not surprisingly – in the blogosphere, in the newspapers, the TV and radio news, a whole lot of talk about fear on the one hand, and on the other – hope. The hope is … Continue reading
A seed of hope?
Some months ago, for a blog which I never published, I wrote the following – “We’re in a mess, aren’t we? An even bigger mess than the one we were in a year or two ago. And we don’t seem … Continue reading
13/15 February 1945
The other day, I listened to an interview, recorded very recently, with a British man, now over 100 years old – a prisoner of war I suspect – who was caught up in the bombing of the German city of … Continue reading
Listen to the Birds
I will remember the December just gone as having been mostly grey and grim. And wet. On many days, in the little park below my kitchen window, the leaden skies seemed to hang so low they could hardly have been … Continue reading
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