I Am Here

January 8th

I Am Here

Other than the temporary blip yesterday when I just felt too tired to manage it, I’m very sad to report that I’m really starting to enjoy writing these blogs again.

The act of writing is somewhat cathartic and although I’m an amateur who no doubt make lots of grammatical errors, the finished article isn’t so much about what you might read (if you do, thanks) but about getting the words out of my head.

I spend my working life writing what other people need me to write so it’s quite refreshing to blether on about things that mean nothing to anyone but me.

Writing funerals is something that takes careful thought but what ends up on paper is almost never a verbatim account of what is actually said on the day. I use notes as a tool from which I can extemporise, the words are a starting point on which the story is built. It’s just my way of working but I make it clear to families that if they want an exact record of what is said, the might be wise to record it!

I don’t write well enough nor with enough confidence, to ever think of publishing a novel, or even a pamphlet. I just try and make best use of the words that come into my head, but speaking words is much easier than writing them I have found.


Over the course of the last 20 years I have not only written the occasional blog but I have also written for local radio as well as presenting on hospital & community radio. The vast majority of the words written were later recorded for broadcast, or presented live and I therefore had the chance to self edit  as I went along.

Sadly, you’re getting unfiltered rubbish…

I really would love another chance to work on radio. My mother dreamt that she was raising the next Terry Wogan, I must be a great disappointment to her.

I may never grace a radio station again as a presenter,  and now the local radio has dispensed with my services it is only through writing this blog that I get to project this poppycock into the world.

I have stories to tell, as do we all.

Some are happy, some are sad. Some might be truer in part than others but all come out of the muddle of my headspace with as much honesty as I can muster, adorned, occasionally, with a sprinkling of humour.

I have tales about dead birds, very much alive birds, drag queens, movie stars, broken windows, ladders, guns, cops and robbers, tramps, mice, explosions, bravery, cows, Native Americans and ladies private parts…

It may well be some of these stories get told or it may just be my ramblings about the state of the world that are electronically ejaculated onto this document.

The words will be here whether they are read or not. Maybe after I am dead and long forgotten someone will find them and then…lose them again very quickly.