When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,
Before high-pilèd books, in charactery,
Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain;
When I behold, upon the night’s starred face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love—then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
when i have fears that i may cease to be
I think now – I think if I had turned and walked along beside him and not said anything, it might have been the right thing to do. But that’s what I think now. It has taken me all these years even to imagine doing that, and I had a math class on the second floor, clear at the other end of the building, and there was just barely time to get there before the bell rang.
she was electric blue, catching the last of the light.
…and then we went to Festival No.6 in Portmeirion. It’s been years since I’ve been to what I’ll hesitantly refer too as a ‘smaller’ festival, and I had the loveliest time getting reacquainted with it. We made friends for life and discovered some sublime new music – both of which tend to evade me when I surrender myself to those hectic few days a year on Worthy Farm (not that I’d change that for the world) – and on top of those accidental perks, we saw Badly Drawn Boy in the woods (who closed with the Stone Roses’ I Wanna Be Adored), made it into two 100-capacity Town Hall sets with the No.6 Ensemble (Gaz Coombes and James, no less), caught Steve Coogan and Chris Gifford in the Central Piazza, watched our beloveds – Belle & Sebastian and King Creosote – headline, and fell in love with the Brythoniaid Choir daily. All that’s left to say is: be seeing you.
if I could have a second skin, I’d probably dress up in you
So we made it up to Edinburgh for the last week of the Fringe Festival in August and the conclusion was: I continue to bloody love that place and I continue to be in awe of Daniel Kitson. Besides Kitson’s Polyphony, which won the week for me, we also caught James Acaster, Stewart Lee, Lolly Adefope and Tom Basden’s Party – and lots more. Naturally we booked dinner at the Scran & Scallie (it never fails), but were also recommended the brilliant Ting Thai Caravan, from which, it turned out, we couldn’t stay away. Throw in long afternoons of folk at Sandy Bell’s, all-the-beers at Brauhaus, coffee and truck toasties at Cairngorm Coffee Co. and all-too-frequent night-caps in the Thistle Street Bar – and you have yourself one very sad-it-was-over logsy. Just don’t talk to me about the wind on Arthur’s Seat.
i know a place. i’ll take you there.
I’m never sure how to do this, other than: the Charlatans kicking it off with the best ones. That bit of masking tape letting me know the Albion was on course. Run them jewels (fast). King Creosote’s impromptu stand-ins in the Crow’s Nest making everything okay. Mavis Staples taking us there. Ain’t nobody tired. Singing happy birthday to the Dalai Lama. Belle and Sebastian in the Sunday evening sun. Who are you?
…and on a sunday evening, bells ring out in the dust.
And here I find myself again, gearing up for my favourite few days of the year. Excited to watch one of my favourites in the world make his debut and worried about the rest. Nothing new. No biggie. See you all on the farm of dreams.
holding out your heart.
Somehow or other, we found ourselves with tickets to see Blur at the Newhampton Arts Centre in Wolverhampton on Saturday. We were two of what can only be described as a handful of people and it was completely sublime (goes without saying) and I may or may not have gone all teen-fan-girly for a moment or more. The only way I can stop myself from reeling off the setlist right now is by letting you know you can find the setlist here. Okay, I think I’m done. Apart from maybe THIS.
