Devenish

The roof is leaking and the wind is howling Kids are crying, 'cos the sheets are so cold I woke this morning, found my hands were frozen Tried to feed the fire, but you know, the damn thing's too old. Click to play (youtube) Actually, it's the kitchen ceiling, in our house in the suburbs of Sheffield, 9000-odd kilometers and 9 hours' worth of time-zones away. A burst hot water cylinder, I'm told, in the urgent email updates from our tenant. Claire is not happy about this situation. Understandably so, but at least she can monitor it, and let the plumber in. I'm distracted and frustrated, and powerless: none of us needs this, on top of everything else. Curiously, in searching for the lyrics to the Phil Collins song that introduces this piece, I came across this site on the interpretation of dreams: To dream that the roof is leaking represents distractions, annoyances, and unwanted influences in your life. New information is slowly revealing itself to you.

A few posts ago , I mentioned in passing Phil Coulter's most famous composition The Town I Loved so Well. Which, this evening, got me lost on YouTube again... Does anyone watch television anymore, when there is a near infinity of inspirational content in 5-10 minute bite-sized chunks? Of course, there's also a near infinity of unmitigated garbage, but the great thing about near infinities of storage is that everyone can get along without treading on toes. Anyway, my contribution here is simply to present four versions of the song: the first by Phil Coulter himself, the second by the late lamented Luke Kelly, the third by Paddy Reilly, the fourth by Josef Locke. My personal opinion is that Josef Locke wins hands down, not just because he had a voice in his eighties as strong and clear as that of most singers fifty years younger, but for the fact that, like the Johnny Cash number posted last week , this is a man who gives you a piece of his soul, not just a good performance.

Sean's new ski jacket bears the logo NO FEAR! Unlike some other ski fashion labels, this slogan is neither meaningless tosh ( Gush, Soldowt, Blueblood) nor indicative of some alpinist aspiration ( Descente, Quiksilver, North Face ); instead, it explains his actual performance. These videos taken on Sean's third day out, and Julian's first, show how easily one can do things, if you're a child, and without fear. "How did you learn to do that?," I asked him, as he herringboned faultlessly up to to the lift, then slid down backwards, and turned to talk to me. "I watched other people, and did what they were doing," he said. And it's probably true. But I can watch other skiers endlessly, and like most adult learners, will never be better than an awkward intermediate. It's not (just) that I'm incompetent, but it's not beautiful to watch: I lack the fluidity that comes of spare synapses, young muscles, and a fearless view of the slope.

On this morning's Radio 4 broadcast of Desert Island Discs , Alex Salmond's penultimate choice was Johnny Cash's San Quentin . A fine song no doubt, but one limited by time and place and by Cash's personal history, and largely confined to its genre. But then later, while searching for something else, I came across these transcendent covers by Cash, recorded in the last months of his life: the first, one of Gordon Lightfoot's most moving songs If you could read my mind , the second a cover of Hurt by Trent Reznor (Nine Inch Nails). It's not merely that neither of the original artists is a great vocalist that makes Cash's renditions so much better, for they are both interesting performers, it is that you feel this man giving us in these final songs not just a performance, but his whole life, his flesh, guts and soul. Most of us can only dream of containing a fraction of this visceral humanity, let alone projecting it. Enough said, just watch and listen.

  I had just finished the last post, in which I made passing reference to Phil Coulter, an Derry-born songwriter best-known in Ireland for the nostalgic Town I loved so Well —when I read this in his Wikipedia entry ... Some of his most personal, famous and indeed most touching songs come from the loss of family members. “‘The Old Man’ still haunts me when I play it in Derry,” he reflected. “I can still see my father’s face appear when I’m playing it there. These are my roots, my place, so the ghosts and memories come out of the woodwork when I play in Derry.” Phil’s sister, Cyd, drowned in Lough Swilly. One year later he lost his brother, Brian to the same ‘Lake of Shadows.’ His struggle to come to terms with the loss and resulting emotions are captured in his songs ‘Shores of the Swilly’ and ‘Star of the Sea’. Furthermore, " Scorn Not His Simplicity ", pleads for tolerance and understanding of his son, who was born with Down's syndrome and died at the

I can't decide whether popular music is merely the enduring and consoling soundtrack to my emotional life—or better, the sounding board, amplifying and accentuating the most trivial thoughts (think Nick Hornby's High Fidelity )—or whether perhaps it has a deeper significance suggesting, presaging, even determining changes in my desires and sensibilities far into the future.* Either way, it's damned important, sometimes it can cut deep. So it was today, as I struggled to explain to Ayumi why I want to stay up this hill for as long as possible, that the following song, by Don McLean, a masterpiece that I had not listened to for 25 years or more, entered without knocking... Click here to play [youtube]   And if she asks you why, you can tell her that I told you That I’m tired of castles in the air. I’ve got a dream I want the world to share And castle walls just lead me to despair. Hills of forest green where the mountains touch the sky, A dream come true, I’ll li

There must be some good explanation for the fact that in Japan, a country notorious for allowing its citizens to work themselves to death (such that there's even a special term for it karoushi 過労死 )—there are more public holidays than you can shake a stick at. Grrr! As  someone at the other end of things in terms of employment conditions, it's completely infuriating and frustrating: it seems like hardly a week goes by but there's yet another public holiday when I can't get anything done because the children are off school once again, asking what we are going to do today? In point of fact, Sean doesn't return to school until the 18th January, while Julian has an extra day off nursery this week just to ensure that I cannot prepare classes or do any research. I love my children dearly, but it would be nice to be able to get through a two week period in the calendar without another scheduled interruption. Of course, it might be well argued that if I stopped grum

Click here [YouTube] Winter skies: Christmas morning on Rokko-san Never saw the morning till I stayed up all night Never saw the sunshine till you turned out the light Never saw my hometown until I stayed away too long Never saw the melody until I needed the song...  Japanese houses are wretchedly cold in winter, except where they're snug and warm. Unlike Canadian homes, in which you need to remove six layers of outdoor clothing (fur to t-shirt in two minutes) to avoid heat exhaustion, or our house in England, which generously dispenses its pale heat across the neighbourhood through leaking walls and uninsulated roof spaces, retaining for itself only a breath of warm air and exhorbitant energy bills, Japanese houses are warm in just the places where people are...and close to freezing everywhere else. After just a few hours of cold weather, one appreciates the inspired genius of the heated toilet seat that is virtually standard bathroom equipment here. The very contrast is

If a tree falls in the forest and no-one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? No. (I'm glad we've got that cleared up!)*               *For those who still believe this to be a conundrum , a fuller explanation will follow on Inishmacsaint shortly)

View from the balcony, January 1st 2011 Click to play [youtube] Don't worry about a thing, 'Coz ev'ry little thing gonna be alright... ( Bob Marley, Three Little Birds) If Wikipedia is to be believed, no-one is quite sure who or what Bob Marley had in mind when he wrote this hopeful, upbeat song, but it's as good as any to start the New Year, and not completely irrelevant. Justin again, who's sleeping in his cot next to me as I write this, and still growing well. No real smiles, despite the counter claims of Seán and Julian from the back seat of the car earlier today —"You just don't see it Dad, you're too busy driving!" (the second part of which was, fortunately, true...), but he seems content nevertheless. Which leads to the point of the post. Should we believe only what we see, or what others—be they children or doctors—tell us? On the left, the baby I see, who's growing, stretching, gazing, cooing like any normal baby; on the

It's probably just wishful thinking, but when I took this photograph on 28th December, hiking down Rokko-san, I couldn't help being reminded of Totoro , as Sean and Julian ran down ahead of me...into a sunlit afternoon. It was a beautiful winter's day, cool but sunny, perfect for a forest walk. And only just in time, it turned out. Yesterday it started snowing in earnest, and we headed off for a day's skiing. This morning, New Year's morning, it's -12 outside, and little warmer in the hallway. But that's a story for another post. For now, the picture can stand for my hopes for all my family, and especially for my mother, for a happier and warmer 2011. Happy New Year to all.