The Bard of Tysoe

“Beautiful writing. Each word pulls you towards the next in effortless momentum. Very much enjoy your work.”
— Mark Peter Beeson
“I love your blog! You write so beautifully.”
— Oliver Ryan

Pages…

▼

Monday, 31 March 2014

A little herd of England’s timorous deer…

›

The National Trust’s Charlecote Park is one of my favourite places to wander around: especially West Park – home to the main breedi...

Sunday, 30 March 2014

Politics, politicians, and political service…

›

A bad politician disappoints his constituents; a good politician disappoints himself. I’m sure this has been said before – and in many ...

Friday, 28 March 2014

Bard & Tew (Part 2)

›

With Mike Sanderson The skies were leaden again. Rain teemed down. Again. “See, it’s the climate changing!” said Tew. He was d...

Architecture with heart and brains…

›

Do you believe that art has the power to move? Do you believe that architecture is art? If no, please leave now (and don’t forget to t...

Wednesday, 26 March 2014

That’s all he wrote…

›

Thank you for your communication. I shall be arguing strongly for Gladman’s Appeal to be dimissed.

‹

›

Home

View web version

EVERYTHING YOU WANTED TO KNOW ABOUT THE BARD BUT WERE AFRAID TO ASK:

The Bard of Tysoe: Copeland, Cumbria, United Kingdom; Originally an amateur musician… — yet having worked in IT and marketing communication for a quarter of a century — both as manager and consultant; as well as writing for the Guardian… — the Bard retired for medical reasons; and now devotes his life to keeping as healthy as possible by putting one foot in front of another (badly, but semi-frequently); watching the world, with all its vagaries, go by (in great puzzlement); capturing what he sees (in words and pictures); and trying to leave a trail of happiness in his wake. What matters most to him are beauty, truth, cats, and fairness — in whatever myriad forms they occur — and he despises inequality, greed, fascists, and hate. His favourite occupation is thinking; and he was (therefore) — for a handful of years — the Orchestra of the Swan’s ‘writer in reticence’. You are now, though, most likely to encounter him staring into space, with a thoughtful grin beneath his wonted hat and dark glasses, walking stick in hand, somewhere in the quieter parts of the Northern, North Western, and Western Fells of Lakeland. (He resembles nothing so much as a badly-dressed Herdwick.)

View my complete profile

Powered by Blogger.