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…

▼

Tuesday, 25 November 2014

Bent double…

›

…it’s impossible to argue that people should be forced to stay where they were born – certainly not Belgium or Aldershot – so it follows th...

1 comment:

Saturday, 22 November 2014

The devil’s in the dog-tail…

›

Ever since the Swan Theatre opened in 1986, there’s been a running quip in the Bard family – when one of us attends a play there we ge...

Thursday, 20 November 2014

Only sensible in the duller parts…

›

In October, last year – exactly (and coincidentally) thirteen months ago – I wrote what I hoped was an encouraging email to fellow memb...

Friday, 14 November 2014

Beginning with a single step…

›

There is something richly rewarding about putting one foot in front of another – as has probably been said as many times I have actu...

Wednesday, 12 November 2014

Infamy, infamy…

›

Anatomy of a migraine A migraine may begin in many ways: Quite instantly, or with some challenging delays, With auras like th...

‹

›

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.