About his wife Tony couldn’t play pedal steel but he was a policeman who checked permits others required back then A wandering Spanish cock despite beautiful wife and home he revelled in the glamour of our music-making He’d disappear after gigs for a private performance with some lucky tourist sweating under his spell A pleasant yet despicable man I still think about his wife © copyright Russell Cavanagh Read more
Listening "Car!" Still a quarter mile distant on this gentle forgotten brae the motor rasped up worn tarmac between auld drystanes. It was time to pick up the basket and lean in to the ripe outgrowth. A Morris Minor waved his thanks and stirred down a gear to tackle one final gradient up to the high road. My mother placed a few dark brambles into my cupped hand before retreating into silence. Maybe her thoughts were of the jam she'd start to make tomorrow, back home where my father no longer was. © copyright Russell Cavanagh Read more
Amsterdam 1988 Even shit-faced on many beers and potent smokes I could tell my newly animated buddy how the barman had pointed us out to the two girls. “Prostitutes, Jimmy,” I said, reminding him we'd run out of money. © copyright Russell Cavanagh Read more
