Bury is baking. On this Wednesday morning in late July, the sun has nudged aside the ever-present threat of showers and is doing its best to bring the red roses into bloom and give the town’s famous black pudding an even deeper...
Read MoreI’m sitting at a long wooden table nursing a half pint of something pungent. There are belly laughs, there’s banter, there are black pudding scotch eggs – all the essential beer accompanying paraphernalia is intact. In fact it...
Read MoreThere really was nowhere quite like the Kazimier. If it had only been the best venue in which to see a band that I’ve visited in 35 years of gig going, that would surely have been accolade enough. And if that superlative gig...
Read MoreHere is a street. In the street stands a woman. This is the street as a bullring, as a stage set, as a theatre of distant despair. The woman waits alone, apparently trapped in an invisible box, but there’s no hint that she’s...
Read MoreGod knows how much time has passed since I last saw a gooseberry. It seems to me that nations have risen, civilisations have collapsed and entire continents have drifted apart since I last set eyes on any of those translucent...
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