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

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Sunday, 1 March 2015

Wall of separation – disestablishment believes…

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For there shall arise false Christs, and false prophets, and shall shew great signs and wonders; insomuch that, if it were possible,...

Thursday, 26 February 2015

Wall of separation – environment…

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And I brought you into a plentiful country, to eat the fruit thereof and the goodness thereof; but when ye entered, ye defiled my land,...

Wednesday, 25 February 2015

Wall of separation – disability…

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For various reasons , I’ve been doing a lot of reading, recently – even more so than usual… – including the superb 818-page biography (...

Thursday, 19 February 2015

Children (and childcare) as commodities…

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It’s odd how, every time there’s a news item or report, like there is today, on the BBC website , about the rising cost of childcare, t...

Monday, 16 February 2015

Not necessarily a good thing…

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Engaging in thoughts or activities that distract attention from pain is one of the most commonly used and highly endorsed strategies fo...

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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.)

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