It rings a bell
the campanologists are competing
Although at this stage I don't know this
Their sonority has yet to reach my timpanis membrane
As I negotiate the mini roundabout on foot
At the heart valve of the village
Having sat the last hundred yards in silence
After rebuking my wife
For almost taking a wrong turning.
It's all about the particulars see.
You are to be found around the back of the Sussex Oak
And suddenly the bells clang into focus
The air is jubilant and expectant.
Although I sense this is a rehearsal
It isn't for the campanologists.
Life is not a rehearsal they chime.
Each pull is a meaningful yank
(hear a clang across the pond)
on the placenta of heaven's womb
One false move and blood will rain.
but until then here is a medley of events
From the radiant to the apocalyptic
Through the funereal via the every-day come hither cycle of the Sunday service.
We sit supping our pints in a session
And you roll an ex-smoker a fat one that will take a few days …
A hang over is a funny thing. I am in the dining room having eeked the last part of the maths homework out of my son and the world seems fuzzy. Not fuzzy as it did yesterday when I realised my left eye was struggling to focus (age and stress) but fuzzy in a way more suited to Sundays spent in an undergraduate bedroom. I never really let go at art college. By which I mean I was always aware that I might have to function the next day. Life was not an Alex Garlanded beach for me. There is probably a certain amount of obsessive compulsive control freakerery to blame for me never really disengaging from an approach of nervous trepidation. The old spectacles testicles wallet and watch is a joke that chimes with me on a number of levels - not least the repeated rituals that Catholicism seemed to instigate. Set off. I never forget the time my parents found me, aged 10, kissing the feet of the deconstructed crucifix that hung over our staircase. You don't need to do that they said gently.…
Yesterday I called my mum using Alexa to talk her through making a loaf of bread using the sourdough starter my dad had collected from our doorstep. This, I thought, is truly the embodiment of how technology can bring people together. This is like an advert for Amazon’s devices I mused, imagining a TV commercial with emotive quirky piano music finishing with my dad popping up behind my mum at the end saying its very tasty as I call them after a long walk with my two sons. Part of me thought yes this is everything you rail against. I mean the way in which the consumer Spectacle represents life as a series of symbolic images. But then another part of me felt why should technology be seen as such a corrupting influence when invention and creative problem solving are part of the human experience? Would I care if anyone knew where I was or what my favourite google search was if I wasn’t born into a culture of Big Data duality? By this I mean that Technology has gradually shaped our sense …