Like The Clappers

A circular walk from Harlington train station to Sharpenhoe Clappers and back again. The first leg memorable for a troop of scramble-bikes echoing around the combe up to Sundon. Then onto National Trust territory protected by kissing-gates, designed to deter motor-cycles. The stretch from Sundon Hills is the loveliest chalk downland, the birdsong only occasionally drowned out by model aeroplane enthusiasts. The views north towards Ampthill and Marston Vale are panoramic. Continue reading “Like The Clappers”

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Breakfast Birds

In the time it takes to eat a bowl of porridge at the kitchen window this morning, I’ve seen a wren constantly on the hop amongst the solanum; a couple of blue tits pecking on the fence; a small flock of long-tailed tits swinging through the branches of the trees; a blackbird sounding the alarm; the fleeting shadow of a bird upside down on the eaves of the shed, gone too quick to tell, about the size of a robin but upside down? No sign of the ubiquitous magpies or pigeons. Maybe that’s why there was so much activity, and the bright sun melting the frost. So much energy. Continue reading “Breakfast Birds”

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Blow Rahsaan!

Now that’s what I call a pair of lungs! Rahsaan Roland Kirk at the Montreux Jazz Festival 1972. I saw him later at Ronnie Scott’s and he blew me away. He was magnificent, spirited and generous. He could take a sweet ballad and stretch it fearlessly, rolling it out until he’s blowing constantly, exhaling and inhaling both at the same time. Circular breathing and circular singing. He was a musical whirlwind. Continue reading “Blow Rahsaan!”

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