Skylight...

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THERE’S so much I’m going to miss about Sheffield. From an early age, I’ve realised that you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone – so make the most of it. I've always try to do just that, but it's nice to reminisce…

...In this reflective frame of mind, I’d like to thank Justine and the Words Aloud team, and their community of artists and writers especially Jude for all their support...

http://wordsaloud.org/
http://judecalverttoulmin.blogspot.com/

...Words Aloud run a great night in an awesome venue, and I'll really miss them. I’ve loved having the chance to read my work on stage in front of an amicable audience in the cosy Lescar pub. I’ve loved the support of my adorable friends, and the talented poets and thespians who have cheered me on…

...I hope to continue to read in the future. Here’s a copy of my parting reading, and ends my fleeting moments of fame in the Steel City…

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SKYLIGHT

I’ll miss my windswept attic up in the clouds, in a house on the hill overlooking sprawling Sheffield…

Homes tumble down the slope to the church tower, then a shallow drop to the landscape below. A panorama of cranes, multi-story glass towers, defunct industrial chimneys, wasteland, and 1960s prefabs…

The Tinsley cooling towers standing like nuclear reactors and the mighty M1 pencils a border on the brooding horizon…

I’ll miss jumping out of bed, pulling back the blind and letting the light flood in. Of feeling the fresh air on my face and the wind in my hair, and loving life – the life of the dreamer up in the attic...

I’ll miss the rain thundering down in sheets, mocking corrugated iron huts in South East Asia, awash with hail and spinning cyclones…

Or the October wind howling round the chimney pots like witches on broomsticks, and their cats with glassy green eyes…

I’ll miss lying on my back in winter, upside down watching snow flakes rushing towards the cold pane from the blanket white sky…

I’ll miss watching the snow pack melt like a retreating glacier as the pallid January sun radiates its tepid glow. The snow shrinking to sugary crystals, then draining in a web of braided rivers…

I’ll miss the warm summer twilight. The sunset in the west, a golden peach haze, turning salmon as each second slides by. The scudding cumulus clouds ripening to blueberry, and down below the darkening landscape is lit up by thousands of street lamps…

I’ll miss those same street lamps as I stumble up the spiral staircase at 7am as the dawn advances on the sleeping city, and ghostly party people return to their graves. The stars fade and Venus orbits…

I’ll miss those drab days of deadening northern drizzle, when my attic is shrouded in cloud like a castle on a misty mountain, and I’d rather just snuggle under the covers of my four poster bed…

I’ll miss spinning tunes, getting ready to go out, and late nights struggling to meet deadlines typing deliriously on a laptop that glows like iron in a steelworks…

Yes, I’m going to miss my windswept attic up in the clouds, in a house on the hill overlooking sprawling Sheffield…

Kids of today...

A FEW months ago I made a solemn promise to myself that I’d challenge IDIOTS on public transport. Last week, I broke that promise, for two reasons…

• The boys in question might have MASHED me up
• These were child GENIUSES.

Let me explain:

Back in the 90’s, when I was growing up, we had these gadgets called WALKMANS. They were portable cassette tape recorders. So if you were on the move, you could still listen to 2UNLIMITED through earplugs. Clever, eh? The device was named a PERSONAL STEREO.

Kids of today? Well it’s all I-pods, and flashy mobile phones that double up as mp3 players. But it’s not personal anymore. Every time you get on a bus you’re subjected to whatever garbage the spotty, greasy adolescents are listening to…

But wait! Hypocrite, you say! What about the GHETTO BLASTER? Well yes, kids of the late 20^th Century did sometimes bring BOOM BOXES on the odd public transport trip. But that was different: with one of those babies you could blast out KRISS KROSS (or other hippety-hoppety) loud and proud, at a decent decibelage. Now, groups of pikeys slouch on the back seat, listening to something that sounds like it’s coming out of a TIN CAN…

....Come on! If you can’t keep it PERSONAL, at least you should play your tunes through a device with a decent amount of bass!

Anyway, I promised myself that I’d challenge these fools next time they got on the bus.

The problem is, EVERYONE on board can’t stand the rackett but NO-ONE does anything. Rows and rows of grown-ups sit there and cringing, or playing with their mobile phones as if they were video games. How many texts are you sending? Adults have become COWARDS these days, and it’s EMBARRASSING…

…I mean, ok there is a rise in STABBINGS and SHOOTINGS over the last two years. However, when I turned towards the back seat once, it was only a pair of 13 year-old girls with pig tails. GANGSTERS? Please! No somebody’s got to be grown up and take action.

Yet last week, as two HOODIES sat down behind me, I didn’t kick up a fuss, but got out my pen and pad. You see, this summer I’ve immersed myself in the life and culture of residents on a Sheffield council estate as part of my degree`. These two, with their swaggers, wonky baseball, and coarse language, set the scene of urban life perfectly.

As I looked out of the grubby windows, the rattling BASSLINE HOUSE, pumping from their pathetic MOTOROLA’S provided a gritty backdrop the grimy streets that flashed by. I was even nodding my head and tapping my feet to the beat. YEH BWOY!

Little did they know, but they were actively engaging in an MA in Print Journalism! I really wanted to congratulate them on how clever they were, but then stopped myself – I didn’t want to get SHANKED!!!!

Why?

BRIGHT young minds have encouraged me. Many infamous bloggers have set the script over the past ten months...

The ginger ninja with killer cooking skills, the naturist who chews twigs whilst playing the clarinet, the talking haggis, and of course the English rose who laughs in the face of authority, and has trouble eating marshmallows.

This summer, as we sit in a house on the hill, drinking port, eating cheese, and gossiping about our social circle, I realise that I know a special group of people:

Over the past year spent my moments with many gifted characters. The pixie from the East End, who is always late, the handsome tractor boy who loves soggy biscuits, the Yorkshire lad who dreams of being an anchor man, and the Irishman with an indestructible, or invisible liver – I can’t tell which one.

So why I am I writing this? I guess, as we all part our ways, it’s a way of keeping touch. A way I can share the hopes and dreams of these beautiful people. I love them so much, and blogging means we can all see how our lives unfold.

They have given me some great times that I’ll never forget: except when I was woken up at 3am on a freezing pavement by a stranger who paid for my taxi home. So if you are on my wavelength, and catch my drift then read on, if not you don’t know what you’ve missing out on...