Deutsche Fortress

A curious way to camp: Commanding attention, yet defying prying eyes. This Blue Carapace. Aloof- suspended above all foreign soil. No nights under canvas here, soft sheets thrown open to the evening breeze. No. A rather uptight customer. Town on wheels. Aggressively self-sufficient. Defiantly enjoying such splendid isolation.   Copyright Tom Tide 2017

MAKE SOME NOISE!

It was 2.57 pm on this sunny, Sunday afternoon (now 5 hours ago), and I was back in 1995 again. The doors of the Village Hall were humming in time to the bass. I could see the disco lights. I heard the dulcet, (or rather Dorset) tones of the DJ croon ‘I LIKE TO MOOVE…

Beautiful Bath

A view across the river to the glowing, affluent side. © Tom Tide 2016    

It just looked so content…

Everybody has a flair for describing something. That  something could be anything. One of my friends is adept at describing classic cars, to the point that  can almost see them. Another can invoke memories of kisses that are so vivid they make me blush. The queen of description however, without doubt, is my Sister Hannah….

Nevil and Alf-Part One

To the rest of the world, the leafy  nursing home Sunset Oaks was a picture of calm repose. At 3.26 am even the night staff were asleep, and but for the occasional thrum of the boiler room all was silent. Even the keenest of ears would have missed the jazz music escaping from the soundproofed mahogany door…

Streets of Lansdown

  Have you seen the landlord, Who owns a third of Lansdown, Sucking up the rent To fund his year-long cruise? In his eyes you see pound signs, Glinting at the arrears fines, Interest just soaring, Oh how could he lose?   So how can you tell me that my nation’s broke? And say we…

Bovine to bark

  I saw a bull as I wandered free, And with his eyes he  said to me: ‘I am no longer cow, you see?’ From this very day I shall be a tree!   © Tom Tide 2016    

We do not stop playing…

G B Shaw was precisely, poignantly right when he said ‘we do not stop playing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop playing’. To play, to indulge in the simple pleasures of life whilst shrugging off adult sensibilities and inhibitions, is glorious.If you want to see Shaw’s philosophising perfectly illustrated, then have…

Burning impression

To say visiting India is an assault on the senses is akin to saying that rubbing your eyes after chopping chillies is slightly uncomfortable. I spent six weeks in India, and every one of my senses was constantly battered. There was not one millisecond of silence between stepping of one aeroplane in Delhi  and leaving…

Soft Play Apocalypse

Is there anything worse than a hangover? I mean a baddun. Hmm?  Turns out there is: a hangover in a Soft Play centre. Oh God, it was awful. Worse than awful. I had one of those ones that make you feel like you’re on a stormy cross-channel ferry. Yeah, I know it was self-inflicted, but…

Skimming

I don’t like skimming the open sea. Mermaids snatch my stones. I prefer rock pools. Calm. Collected. Free of ripples (apart from my own). I savour every bounce. Every one. Even the ricochets (I love that word). Do the stones cheer as they fly? After millenia of shaping. I hope so. My soul cheers as…