Only as we stood hand in hand, umbrellaed under that beautiful golden elm with our celebrant Alan, our two besties as witnesses and our five guests, did it became apparent to me that we would not have a ‘wedding song’.
When he was a younger man and singing wasn’t so effortful for him, I was a young man too.
Twenty five artists are deep in concentration as I’m sitting in a comfortable chair raised on a small stage
The chords echo through the old church, and the buzzing of the wooden beams makes my brain reverberate in tandem.
The road spilled out before me, the way forward hidden between twists and turns.
Aged 98, she was getting tired of, as she said, ‘One more day of eating and sleeping!’
When Ruby hit her bass vibrato, glasses and cups rumbled on the shelf.
In a forest village in Finland on a month-long writing residency, I wandered into a bar with a strange vibe and staring men.
It was only when I listened back to my song that I realised what it was about.
You’re on the staircase, Kylie, summoning a confessional poem...