By Ian Copestick
England, My England
A miserable wet evening, grey skies and cold wind. England, my England. This land of grey and green. Summer's now over, and normal transmission has been resumed. Brooding skies with treacherous clouds, nothing to look forward to. Just month after month of god awful weather, being cold and wet most of the time. Well, no that's not quite true, the colours and smells of autumn always give a lift to my heart. But it's still a bad payoff for nearly nine months of misery. England, I love you, I hate you too.
It’s That Time Again
My big, thick, winter overcoat has been rescued from the wardrobe. Short sleeved shirts are pushed to the back of the drawers, and woolly jumpers are brought to the front. Yes, it's that time again. My thin, cotton Converse go under the bed, out come the big, leather boots. It's weird, but my taste in music changes in the Winter, too. " Pink Moon " by Nick Drake becomes one of my favourite records. The stark, sparse sound of just the acoustic guitar, and his melancholy voice seems the perfect soundtrack to brown, naked trees, their branches swaying in the harsh,cold breeze. It's a brutal beauty that Winter possesses, but it's no less evocative for it. The shallow, splashy loveliness of Summer seems almost adolescent, compared to the grave, aged, stern charms of Winter. I often say how much I hate it, but that obviously isn't true. I just think that three months is far too long. I'd love it even more if it only lasted three weeks.