Private Passions

Dreaming of Private Passions
 

The composer and broadcaster Michael Berkeley has presented Private Passions on BBC Radio 3 for thirty years, inviting celebrities to choose and discuss various pieces of music.  The guests are all distinguished in their respective fields.  I will never be invited to take part, but it is fun to play the game, so here are my choices, with the proviso that, with the infinitude of music to draw on, any set could be influenced by any number of factors, ranging from the weather to the season to the vagaries of relationships.
 
Mozart was one of the first names I learned in music.  His Eine Kleine Nachtmusik was on one of the 78s we had when I was a child, with those chords ringing out from a teak wind-up gramophone that sat on the floor of our front room.  Later, when trying to learn the piano, I accompanied someone on the clarinet in a version of the second movement from his Clarinet Quintet.  I am not a pianist, but there is one opus I can just about manage, and there is a certain pleasure in making the notes that were composed so long ago come to life.
 
Mozart – Fantasia in D Minor, K 397 – Angela Hewitt
 
I wish I had progressed further with the piano, but with the excitement of the sixties I was drawn to the guitar.  And this perhaps is why my next choice is Bob Dylan.  I still have the Freewheelin’ LP which I bought on September 16^th, 1965.  And I still play Don’t think twice, it’s all right.....  Bruce Langhorne’s guitar adds to the effect, but it is Dylan’s confident and articulate farewell to a relationship that is so memorable.  It isn’t his greatest song, perhaps, but then given the breadth (and depth!) or his production over more than sixty years, which is?
 
Bob Dylan – Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right
 
So, I played and sang through my teens, and I was in Dublin when the Dubliners were at their height, and I spent a memorable evening at the Old Triangle folk club where I met Luke Kelly. He had a wonderfully clear, controlled voice and as he closed his eyes, tilted back his head and let flow streams of perfectly balanced ballad history the place fell silent.  This is a beautiful song, written by Phil Coulter, which, despite being steeped in Ireland’s contemporary history, touches my own past in my imagination.  
 
The Dubliners featuring Luke Kelly – The Town I Loved So Well
 
I grew up to the Beatles, and they were absolutely a part of everyone’s life in the sixties. I sat though A Hard Day’s Night twice when it came out and hung on their every appearance on TV.  John Lennon had the edge, for me, and on the day he died, some friends and I were involved in a car crash (in Italy) and it seemed that the lights had gone out.  This song is an early one and is perhaps typical of the sixties where many pop songs were about holding hands or dancing or falling in love.  It is perhaps significant, however, that one of his last recorded songs was entitled Woman – I guess some of us grow up?
 
The Beatles – Girl: Rubber Soul
 
On April 28, 1973, Bob Marley and the Wailers came to play in the Great Hall at Lancaster University.  I was living and working in Manchester at the time, but went back up to Lancaster (where I had a toehold) for weekends and this was a great night.  There was something quite new about this music.....
 
Bob Marley and The Wailers – No Woman, No Cry
 
Later I moved to Sheffield and would drink in the pubs down West Street on a Saturday night, and one had a juke box with Rod Stewart’s version of What’s Made Milwaukee Famous (Has Made A Loser Out Of Me), and the song touched something within me, (though I didn’t listen).  My wife Amanda loved him too, and this recording of Have I told You Lately that I Love You? played her out at her funeral.
 
Rod Stewart – Have I told You Lately That I love You?
 
In 1976 I was appointed to teach at St George’s English School Rome, where my adult life took shape.  And as time went by, I picked up the guitar again and formed a folk group with a friend and some of the students and we performed concerts for Amnesty International, involving my guests Adrian Mitchell, Roger McGough and then Adrian Henri, and with others at the Folk Studio and The Fiddler’s Elbow.  They were good days, but I also became interested in Italian music, and history and I visited many churches and monasteries throughout Italy and learned about Palestrina. 

 

 
Palestrina - Missa Papae Marcelli – Sistine Chapel Choir, Massimo Palombella
 
I also went to the Opera in Rome and ‘discovered’ the joys of Verdi and Puccini. And somehow this led back to Mozart. I had a journalist friend who insisted we went to see Joseph Losey’s film of Don Giovanni, in which Kiri te Kanawa played Donna Elvira.  Later on, when we had moved back to the UK, I ran a school boarding house and Kiri’s son Tom was one of my charges.  On Friday, 20^th June, 1997, Amanda and I were invited to see Kiri at a gala performance at Hampton Court, a wonderful evening, with champagne in the dressing room after the show.  
 
Mozart – Cosi Fan Tutte - Soave sia il vento – Kiri te Kanawa.
 
The supporting artist that night was Andrea Bocelli, and as Amanda was particularly taken with him, the music we played to introduce her funeral was La Voce del Silenzio.
 
Andrea Bocelli – La Voce del Silenzio
 

E chi ho tanto amato

Dal mare del silenzio

Ritorna come un'onda

Nei miei occhi

E quello che mi manca

Nel mare del silenzio

Mi manca sai molto di più…

 
When I lived in Italy, I learned the language, and loved the life, and music was all around.  I particularly liked Francesco de Gregori and his friend Lucio Dalla, and more recently got hooked on a version of Alice, with Ligabue.
 
Francesco de Gregori, featuring Ligabue – Alice
 
As a counterpoint to this romanticism (which I acknowledge is a weakness) J S Bach is another of the masters to whom I listen again and again.  But......  How does one choose?  ‘Cello suites (as my brother Simon played at our mother’s funeral)? Organ works (my father and grandfather sometimes played these)?  Piano works (as I still try to play)?  

That is the difficulty.  And while I don’t really understand it, I can immerse myself in St John Passion and let it wash right through me.  The Matthew Passion, the Cantatas, etc, they all fill my mind with temporary glory, but I think St John is the best.

 
J S Bach – St John Passion – BWV 245 - Ruht Wohl, Ihr Heiligen Gebeine: The Choir of New College Oxford, Collegium Novum, Edward Higginbottom 
 
And now, in a different vein, I include a song by John Prine, about whose sharply witty and humanely warm lyrics I knew nothing before his untimely death in 2020 during the Coronavirus pandemic.  But his last song, written and recorded only shortly before his death helps me whenever I think back over all the private passions of my life.  And it is also one I have learned to play, perhaps as a counterpart to the earlier Dylan track.
 
John Prine - I Remember Everything
 
And another song which is quite a different thing, though also strongly emotional.  Elton John was not an artist I ever felt close to, but he is music, and some of his songs are inevitably a part of the backing tracks of our lives.  Your Song is a sweet example of how he, and his associates, captivated us in the ‘70s.  Pop music has an enormous reach, and in certain ways it is the twentieth century’s answer to all the opera house excitement in the days of Mozart and Puccini et al....
 
Elton John – Your Song
 
In closure, I would have chosen either Borodin’s In the Steppes of Central Asia, an extraordinarily enduring work which a friend introduced to me when we were first at Lancaster University, or for The Symphony No. 9 in E minor, From the New World, Op. 95, B. 178, composed by Antonín Dvořák in 1893, partly because it was one of the first LPs my brother Simon bought to play on our ‘modern’ record player, and also because, a year or more since the death of my wife, I am now entering a new world, and that sense of entering fresh territory excites me and gives me hope.

 

However, the music which I would like to fade away with, is that of Chopin.  Having visited the rooms in Vallombrosa, in Mallorca, where Chopin and Georges Sand spent an uncomfortable winter in 1839, I continue to wonder at the extraordinary melodic creativity that these pieces offer us.  And at the profound melancholy that sometimes settles upon me.  I just wish I could play it!
 
Chopin - Nocturne in G Major, Op. 37 No. 2 – played by Maurizio Pollini
 
 
All these pieces could be anyone’s choices, though anyone could choose infinite varieties of others. It’s a game.  I feel bad about leaving out so many artists and songs (where are Joe Cocker - You Are So Beautiful; Dolly Parton - I Will Always Love You;  Merle Haggard - That's The Way Love Goes;  or Sandy Denny - Who Knows Where The Time Goes.... just for examples?)  

It's just a game.  

But ask for me tomorrow and you will find me a grave man......

 

Richard Gibbs

May 3rd 2025

 
 
 

Farewell my lovely.....

In loving memory of 

Amanda Jane Blacknell Gibbs

 

March 5^th 1954 – February 1^st 2024

‘La Voce Del Silenzio,’ [The Voice of Silence] Andrea Bocelli

 

Welcome – Richard Gibbs

Welcome all, and thank you so much for gathering here today to celebrate the life of (my wife) Amanda Jane Blacknell Gibbs.  The entrance music was sung byAndrea Bocelli, and Amanda loved his music since, in June 1997, we were guests of Kiri Te Kanawa at a gala evening in Hampton Court where Andrea was the support act..... (forgive the name drop, but it would have tickled Amanda....)

 

Try not to be sad, but please feel free to cry – we may - and I have alerted Anglian Water who are used to dealing with floods round here (though it may mean that the road will be closed for a few days....)

 

You may perhaps have expected a priest in this place, but Dan, the Vicar of Snettisham, was away and David Stancliffe, the retired Bishop of Salisbury, who married us almost forty years ago, is unfortunately officiating at another funeral today so could not be here.  Although Amanda did not often attend church during much of our married life, she was brought up by Dorothy and Bernard to be a Christian Scientist.  Then, following her diagnosis, she found her faith in God an enormous help to her, so today, as I know she would appreciate, we are using the traditional Christian format and words to honour her.

 

We meet in the name of Jesus Christ,

who died and was raised to the glory of God the Father.

Grace and peace be with you.

We have come here today

to remember before God Amanda Jane Blacknell Gibbs;

to give thanks for her life;

to commend her to God our merciful redeemer and judge;

to commit her body to be cremated,

and to comfort one another in our grief.

 

Address by Sarah Blacknell Gibbs

What mum wanted was this to be a celebration.

I'm not a good public speaker and I'm very upset; please bear with me....

I'm going to share some good memories I have of mum and some of the things she taught me.

First mum taught me about art, and led to my lifelong love for the subject. She used to take me down to The Licensed Victuallers’ pond and we would sit on the grass and paint and draw the water lilies. I remember being on the grass slope in the sun laughing with her and her encouraging me and praising my childish attempts saying, "Isn't this fun!" She would take me and Hannah to the Tate Modern, always saying that Edgar Degas’s ballerina statue reminded her of me.

One thing mum was always persuading me to do, and it took years and three tests, despite getting the wrong day for one! And I finally passed my driving test. I never wanted to as I found it so stressful but now, I'm forever grateful she encouraged and enthused me. She taught me the importance of independence and perseverance, and I remember her happy tears when I came home with my pass! I first learnt in Granny Dorothy’s little blue mini! She taught me to drive and have drive at the same time.

Another thing she taught me was kindness. I only ever remember seeing her angry once in my whole life. We were at Harpenden station I was waiting in the car. She came out from trying to book some advance tickets with a strange atmosphere. I didn't recognize it because she was never mad!  She then let out the only time I say her swear, the f word! Although she quickly calmed down after telling me the man had been 'quite rude.'

Even when I had problems with a teacher or student at school and came home upset, she would never take my side even when I wanted her to. She would always say think about them and what they might be going through, which as I grew up, I have taken on and it has helped in many situations. That's the kind of person she was, always empathetic, rational and always thinking of others.

The most important thing she taught me was love. I was always surrounded by a warm blanket of pure love. She always supported me; she always encouraged me and she always would listen. She showed me what a wonderful pure marriage should look like, with my wonderful dad Richard. She was an amazing daughter to Granny Dorothy, dropping everything when she was in need, showing me despite life's stresses and ‘over-importantised’ appointments; Love and family come first. She was an amazing sister to auntie Joy, always on the phone or in Bristol listening and aiding. She was the perfect mother.  I'm so incredibly grateful for every second I spent with her cuddling watching the Simpsons, or cooking delicious food, walking around the common and picking flowers and on girls’ trips to London laughing by the Thames, or swimming in the Mediterranean or reading our books in the sun. I just wish we all had more time but the time we had while she was well couldn't have been more perfect.

To my mum.

 

Hymn: ‘Make me a channel of your peace’

 

Make me a channel of your peace:

Where there is hatred, let me bring your love;

where there is injury, your healing power,

and where there’s doubt, true faith in you.

Make me a channel of your peace:

where there’s despair in life let me bring hope;

Where there is darkness, only light,

and where there’s sadness, ever joy.

O, Spirit, grant that I may never seek

so much to be consoled as to console,

to be understood as to understand,

to be loved as to love with all my soul.

Make me a channel of your peace:

it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

in giving to all that we receive,

and in dying that we’re born to eternal life.

 

 

Address by Hannah Blacknell Gibbs

It is hard to choose what to say in a situation like this. I probably started planning what I would say six years ago, and I used to say things out loud to mum when I took her for walks, although she didn’t understand, or at least that’s what I told myself to explain when she didn’t find it funny.

I thought I’d describe some key things about her. She was very loving, quiet but organised. She liked animals, big views, nature, Rod Stewart. She was creative and kind. She had what she called a present box, which was a collection of things available at any time for Sarah or I to use for last minute birthday presents for our friends. She also, when she was ill, made years worth of cards, that some of you might remember receiving. So Sarah, dad and I, as well as our family and her dear friends, have birthday and Christmas cards until 2029.

She was never extravagant. She was subtle and gentle. She liked dressing well like an Italian. She liked matching jewellery, keeping tidy, and her kind example steered Sarah and me without forcing us, to be gracious and care about beauty. She felt very supported by some Christian Science beliefs; she was interested in Buddhism; she felt everything was connected.

She also had a great sense of mischief and cheekiness. For her 55th birthday celebrations the four of us were in Anguillara near where we used to live in Italy. We were walking down a jetty on the lake to a restaurant in the evening, and I had just rolled and lit a cigarette. She took the cigarette out of my hand, and initially I thought she was going to throw it in the lake, but then she looked closely at it. I said mum, “I thought you’ve given up smoking,” and she said “of course!” And then she took a long drag.

Mum was present in my life in two key ways. She was a source of comfort and consolation when I was sad. She was a model of kindness to me. I hope I can convey in my own life the generosity and genuine interest in people she showed. The second way, was when I helped look after her. In doing that she, without knowing it, taught me a new kind of kindness. When I took her for walks, helped her eat, washed her hair, and got her dressed, I learnt how to be kind in ways I never knew I could be kind. 

The main way she was present in my life was through her joy in life. She was happy and almost always smiling and laughing. I really enjoyed sharing time with her and my friends and many of you. Thank you to all of you here who helped make her life what it was. I hope she made you all happy because she made me so happy. I miss everything, the good and the bad. I miss taking care of her, but we will learn to have fun again. 

Thanks for everything mum.  

 

Hymn: ‘Dear Lord and Father of Mankind’

 

Dear Lord and Father of mankind,

forgive our foolish ways;

reclothe us in our rightful mind,

in purer lives thy service find,

in deeper reverence, praise,

in deeper reverence praise.

Drop thy still dews of quietness,

till all our strivings cease;

take from our souls the strain and stress,

and let our ordered lives confess

the beauty of thy peace,

the beauty of thy peace.

Breathe through the heats of our desire

thy coolness and thy balm;

let sense be dumb, let flesh retire;

speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire,

O still, small voice of calm

O still, small voice of calm!

 

Address by Richard Gibbs

Some years ago, Amanda gave me a note that was headed, “If (& when!) it’s time for my funeral.....”She then put that she didn’t really like that word (funeral), “So could it be a celebration of life around here please?”

 

She added, “A few suggestions which might be helpful to whoever has to put it all together (Good luck to you!)”

 

So here we are.  To celebrate a wonderful life, which as we now know slipped gradually into oblivion over the last twelve years and came to a sad end a fortnight ago.  Yes, we are so very sad, but let us be glad that she is at rest now and let us be so very grateful for all the happiness and love she gave us in her (almost) seventy years.....

 

She wanted, “A nice picture of a smiley me” – well, I have trawled my collection - on my phone alone there are over ten thousand pictures of Amanda. And they are ALL SMILEY!  

 

And she wanted, “Lots of thanks for such lovely times, so much fun experienced, very dear lovely family (including furry members!) kind friends & colleagues throughout life.  Wonderful times in Italy & here!”

 

Then she wrote, “Dear family and those who [are here now], Try not to feel sad, but happy & grateful for all we’ve shared & learned together.....”

 

Amanda was born in Bristol on March 5^th 1954, then was taken, with her sister, Joy, by their parents to Birmingham for a few years before returning to grow up in Bristol, where she attended the Red Maids School, with her dear friends Sal and Rache.  She went on to gain a Certificate of Education (for the age range 2 – 9 years) at Bishops Otter College in Chichester. 

 

I first met Amanda in 1978.  On June 19^th, 1978, Roberto Sciò an Italian businessman, who had employed Amanda as nanny for three of his children, wrote her a reference.  “Through her steadiness and reliability, Amanda has given my children the security and confidence they need and has proven that she is absolutely capable of accepting complete responsibility for them with dedication.....”

 

“We have no hesitation whatsoever,” he concluded, “in recommending Amanda to anyone.....”

 

I completely endorse these words.  Our own children could not have had a better mother.  I could not have had a better wife.  So, as Amanda left us on the first of this month, I immediately forwarded Roberto’s reference to St Peter at the Pearly Gates, using express delivery, and have every confidence that she will have been admitted to the most deserved heaven without question.

 

One of my first memories of being with Amanda, was on a date in Rome.  I was struck by her natural charm and on that particular evening something she said struck me as being crystal clear, intelligent and enlightened.  It was an epiphany.  The sad thing, however, is that I have no idea what it was that she said.....  I have racked my brain for years, but all that remains is her smile.

 

Early in our relationship, her friend Hilary lent Amanda her car, and we sped up to Monte Amiata in Tuscany for a weekend by the fireplace in my friends’ David and Sarah’s house.  It was a perfect time, and over the years we returned to that enchanted place, in due course taking our two girls with us again and again.

 

Another magical time was when she had just returned from a holiday in the United States with her friends Hilary and Penny.  I was house-sitting a villa with a pool in Casal Palocco, and she came out to see me.  There was some kind of football match on, and then - as Italy won the World Cup - we drove back into Rome, with every car horn blaring and huge flags flying from the backs of Vespas.  It was joyous bedlam and we felt that the cheers, the happiness could have been just for us....

 

We loved Italy together, and especially Tuscany.  On a particular, warm evening in the Campo in Siena, having had dinner and wine, a strange feeling came over me, and I asked her if she would like to be married?  I wasn’t actually thinking of me, but for some reason she agreed....

 

So, in 1984, we married.  Then we spent a year back in Burton in Lonsdale as I took an MA.  Amanda, resourceful as ever, worked as a waitress in the Snooty Fox in Kirkby Lonsdale.  One night we drove our red Renault 4 to see a film in Kendal.  For some reason a police roadblock flagged us down in the dark and a young PC tapped on Amanda’s window. When he saw what a charming young signorina was driving, he blushed and apologised and waved her on....  Not realising that it was a left-hand drive car and I was actually at the wheel.....

 

And then there was the dancing.  She was nimble, and had such delight in moving to music.  Sadly, I am not graceful, and so there were times when she danced alone – to Madness, on the TV, to street musicians in the Forum in Rome, with complete strangers in a square in Tenerife or Almeria, or just spontaneously with her daughters.  I tried, but as ever she was too light and fresh for me.

 

Since her passing, we have had literally hundreds of messages of condolence and love.  Some have come from people she taught in Rome, many years ago now.  Some have come from boarders she cared for when we were at the Licensed Victuallers’ School in Ascot.  Some have come from colleagues of Amanda’s at the schools she taught at since our move to Harpenden.  Others from dear friends and family who cannot join us today.  It is so heart-warming (though also heart-breaking) to know that she was so loved.  Thanks to everyone who is here now and to those who are here in spirit.

 

And she also wrote; “Note that I will have moved on somewhere and look forward to seeing you all there some time.....”  and she concluded by quoting one of her favourite prayers, “Everlasting arms of love are beneath, around, above – God it is who bears us on. His, the arms we lean upon.  The joy that none can take away, is ours.  We walk with love today.”

 

Farewell, my lovely.  Rest in peace.  Ci vedremmo subito....

 

  

Support us, Lord,

all the day long of this troublous life,

until the shadows lengthen and the evening comes,

the busy world is hushed,

the fever of life is over

and our work is done.

Then, Lord, in your mercy grant us a safe lodging,

a holy rest, and peace at the last;

through Christ our Lord.

 

Amen

 

The Lord’s Prayer

 

Our Father, which art in heaven,
Hallowed be thy Name.
Thy Kingdom come. 
Thy will be done in earth, 
As it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our trespasses,
As we forgive them that trespass against us. 
And lead us not into temptation, 
But deliver us from evil. 
For thine is the kingdom, 
The power, and the glory, 
For ever and ever. 

Amen

 

We have entrusted our sister Amanda to God’s mercy,

and we now commit her body to be cremated:

earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust:

in sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life

through the Lord Jesus Christ,

who will transform our frail bodies

that they may be conformed to his glorious body,

who died, was buried, and rose again for us.

To him be glory for ever.

 

Amen

 

 

‘Have I told you lately that I love you?’ – Rod Stewart 

 

  

 

After the funeral service we gathered in the Rose and Crown, Snettisham, for a reception in Amanda's memory.  It was a happy and very friendly occasion, with lots of local people who had not been able to come to the Crematorium joining us.

Final words

 

Thank you for coming and gathering here.  I apologise for the crush - to be honest I did not anticipate such a turnout, but Hannah, Sarah and I are very grateful for your love and support, and I know that Amanda herself would be delighted, and would dance with each of you.  We realise that not everyone met her, and certainly many will not have known her before the decline set in, especially those who have only encountered us since our move here, but in the early days in Snettisham, still locked down, Amanda loved our walks around the village, to the church, and beyond, and she, and I, were well cared for by many of you in differing ways.  

 

Thank you again, and let us raise a glass to her everlasting spirit.

 

And now, Hannah would like to read a short poem she has written:

 

And, if you will permit me, I would like to sing my last words.  This is a sweet little song by Johnny Cash, which I used to sing occasionally to and with Amanda when we were young.  

It is called, “I still miss someone.”

 

At my door the leaves are falling

A cold wild wind will come

Sweethearts walk by together

And I still miss someone.....

Hannah also prepared a Book of Remembrance, which everyone signed.

And, with many thanks to those who have already contributed to The National Brain Appeal in Amanda's memory (we have now reached over £5,000 which will go to assist research into rare dementias and to help people, like us, who have suffered) all were invited to add donations if they wish.  The link is:

https://www.justgiving.com/page/richard-gibbs-1704458380003?utm_medium=fundraising&utm_content=page%2Frichard-gibbs-1704458380003&utm_source=copyLink&utm_campaign=pfp-share

Confessions of an opium eater.... Who reads this shit anyway?

It’s all a big nothing.  What makes you think you’re so special?  

[Livia Soprano, Series 2, Episode 7]

Pace Dominic Cummings, who, for want of a better idea, just delivered the most mediocre masta class in (a) how to lie and (b) that it matters not a jot what one does....

Pace everyone. Lockdown does funny things to you, and you never know whether you are telling the truth or making things up as you go along. Here are some drug-induced ramblings that may or may not be true, even if I tell them in the first person.  I could even be the filthsome Dominic Cummings.....

I first discovered opium when I was seven.  The pressures of Dame School had got to me, and, on a certain afternoon I had been abandoned upstairs in the house which posed as Miss Benham's educational establishment while the rest of the 'senior' pupils went to partake in Physical Recreation at the  Boys' School Gymnasium. I must have transgressed in some way - perhaps I had not ingested my flapjack in a way consistent with Latin Grammar?  I recall not....

But I do distinctly remember being ostracised and left sitting in her first floor room, the window blindly offering a street view, the fireplace black and dry.  My predicament was that I needed to micturate with bladder pressure rising to eleven.  The choice was between the window and the fireplace, or, I could check Miss Benham's desk drawer and take a risk that she rarely opened it herself.

It was but a minuet, and I was in the mistress's chair, rifling the contents of her incontinence.  My urinatory desire heightened and nearly overcame my sphinctorial controls, but then I delighted on a small package of yellowing resinous material which seemed entirely suitable to one of my tender years.  A sniff, a slight salivation and a voluptuous suck - and I was a hophead (an hophead?  Who gives?)

Oh Miss Benham!  Your spinsterhood revealed.  Nothing becomes you like  your poppydom!

I spliffed.  I chewed!  I wretched, I mewled.  

Then, without compunction, I poured my juvenile effluent into her fireplace and slept.....

And so began - I cannot reasonably trace this further back - a life of cocktails and drug abuse to make Keith Moon seem second triangle in an infant nativity.....

Oh, it's good to confess!  I suppose it's something to do with being an orphan?  My parents, both now well cindered, can't dock my pocket money any more, and I, on the gradual approach to the mausoleum myself, have precious little to lose.  If I ever had a career, it is rarely talked about in court circles these days..... 

To be honest, I don't think that drugs, per se, were ever a problem for me.  They were, at various times and in various milieu, available...  Sort of like the Daily Mail - poisonous, but not compulsory.....

So, in a sense, it was natural that I experimented, dabbled, tried, developed an interest in, sampled, sniffed, snorted, smoked and ingested.....  Think puppies.  Hard to stop them trying to dismember the carpet. Then think poppies....

What kept me aloof, in a way, was that, despite a tendency to fall over, I was not actually in favour of losing total control.  So the harder the substance the less I enjoyed shelling out loads of moolah to be intoxicated.

Which is why, when all is dead and son, I actually like poisoning myself slowly with Al Cohol.  

 But let's take an example.  

Some good long time ago, in the years before Alexander Johnson was priapic enough to endanger pigs, I was given two small pieces of what seemed to be absorbent paper, upon which there were designs.  A very upright friend of mine and I were bound that day for a small island off the Italian coast (Giannutri), and, not overburdened by these wafers, we proceeded.

As the night approached, and a salty dusk slipped off the wine-dark sea, we stretched out our sleeping bags in the remains of a Roman Villa, amongst the curry plants and macchia that sprang through the remains of the mosaic floorings.

Having dined, as one does in these circumstances, on fish and bread, olives and wine, we settled back, as it were, on our imaginary triclinia, and indulged in a little chemical digestive - the very papers our friend had offered.

Nothing happened.  

I have to disappoint.  It was a very quiet night.   The only thing I can report is that I did not sleep well - I fear the air was damp - and the continuous interruptions of tribunes and centurions made it hard to shut the eyes. I remember very clearly a bulky man dressed in a clanky set of metallic clothes and a hessian vest, holding his helmet under his left arm.  He stood by the ginestre (broom) and sort of actively disapproved of us in our sleeping bags, though he said not a word.  The bush, instead, shimmied and quivered, all  night long.....

Nothing happened.  It was just an other night in a Roman Villa, in 56 BC.  

The real surprise was that my friend, who was normally a relatively quiet man, simply would not stop talking.  All night.  And talking absolute bollocks.....

What else?

Well thanks to recent communications from a dear friend from the past, I have been fondly reminiscing of my passing involvement with crime and hard drugs.  Of course, this is entirely made up.  

Lockdown does funny things to you, remember?

But suppose I was a criminal?  Dostoevsky tells me that punishment is in the act.  We don't need courts, and judges.  Luis Buñuel had a go at it in The Phantom of Liberty, when, turning a greek myth on its head, a judge releases a mass murderer knowing that his punishment is within himself.  And, as he exits the courthouse, he is applauded by the press and populace.

How very different the world is today!  Ha!  Oh, Yes!

But I (at least I imagine I) dabbled in other drugs, not just mass murder....  I remember the slow buzz of morphine as the wax melted and the drug crept into my system.  I remember the fuzzy blur as opiated cannabis resin dulled my consciousness and opened up the dream machine.  I can still see those little men inside my head, stomping on my brain, stomping, stomping......

And the sudden hiss as heroin swept through the blood, seconds after the tourniquet was released and the thread of blood in the needle backed up and the infusion washed through from syringe to vein.  A hiss, a distant swish, a cold tide flooding through the system.

And then a foul listlessness, a sick incompatibility, a spongey, lousy incompetence, where nothing, but nothing was better.

Or, if you prefer the really heavy dullness of barbiturates.  Like drinking cement and then trying to dance.  The nights I languished by the juke box in pubs on West Street in Sheffield (of course, I am making this all up) feeding florins into the machine to insist on Rod Stewart's version of What Made Milwaukee Famous..... 

Or, when I was released from the court, the freedom to drink a pint or two and to hear Maggie May in The Raven again and again, before going home with Maggie and then finding her man had finally been released from jail and wasn't too pleased to see me in his house....

And speed.  Whooo!  I've lost track of the times I was raped on the back of a fish truck when under the influence of amphetamine or even cocaine.  The scales still won't fall, the bones will stick.  But it went on for ever (before they picked Peter Sutcliffe up on the corner....).

And then, having just dissolved a benzedrine inhaler in orange juice I set out to hitch hike down the M1 from the Tinsley roundabout, and, as luck would have it, I was picked up by a lonely policeman, who enjoyed my 75 rpm ramblings for many miles before eventually he had some crime to solve.....

Obviously all this is as true as Mr Cummings' Goings, so don't be upset if there is no corroboration.  But, in all seriousness, consider this.  

Does it matter? 

Does anything fucking matter these days?