Yesterday, Saturday 5th of September, we buried my dear old friend and partner in crime, Christopher Charles Ambler, known to the world as Chas. We buried him in a remarkable ceremony at a remarkable site up in the Tatham Fells above the vilage of Lowgill. It’s a place Chas knew and loved well, a place where a few other friends are buried. Chas’s body . . . → Read More: Old Chas Ambler
You might think you know who your family are, and where you’re from, but a few days diddling about on the internet can turn what you knew, what you thought you knew, inside out. I was born in Guildford, son of Alan Marchant, in 1958. Alan wasn’t a great bloke, as it goes, and I wrote about him in ‘Something of the Night.’ He was . . . → Read More: Drive carefully
Coming away from Secret Garden Party on the morning of Monday 29th July this year, more than a little fucked, I caught a train from Peterborough to Leeds. I’d bought a paper, so I took off my distance specs, put on my reading specs, opened the paper and fell straightway into blessed sleep.
I woke up in Leeds, gathered up my stuff, (so I . . . → Read More: New Specs