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singer, songwriter, comedian, author, poet, broadcaster and multi-instrumentalist

DVDs now in stock

There are 2 DVDs  available again from The Shop:


Christmas in Yorkshire is a journey of Christmas celebrated in Yorkshire


Me, a guitar and some daft stuff was filmed during his Tour in 2011 at Wakefield Theatre Royal




Christmas 1914

Originally recorded on the 1977 album: 
Old Four Eyes Is Back

Remastered in 2014 for the centenary


This track can be downloaded free from Soundcloud:

 Christmas 1914


The lyrics can be found here:

Christmas 1914 (from the Bombers Moon book)




This is my new book of poems.

Not funny poems but serious ones like The Shrines which appears below.

You can buy a signed first edition of the book via PayPal for £10 incl. postage & packing. 

Available now from The Shop

Let me know who you want it signing for please in the box on the Checkout page.

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If you want it sending to another address check the Delivery box on the checkout page and type in the delivery address.      






The Shrines

I have seen them on the Snake, the Woodhead too, 
Those places where the spirits of the Earth have left. 
A clutch of flowers, a soft toy, some sun-bleached cards, 
A tangle of bright ribbons mark them out, these spaces now
Made holy somehow by the sudden dead. And those behind, bereft,
Here mark the spot where love left screaming for the stars.
Here time stopped, and the smiling face 
Amongst the lilies and the water jars
Is there to lay claim to this leaving place
To own this pathway to the mystery.
I have seen them too on old bog roads, a high Greek pass,
On lonely moors and Himalayan paths;
The same small sacred groves. 
Some have tin houses where perhaps they think
Lost spirits live; in some an oil lamp blinks
Its flame dancing as if to call the dead souls home.
The old ones say that mourning over much
Disturbs the dead, will call them back
Causing the loved one’s ghost to rise
Marooned here restless, chained by our love to Earth.
Yet still the mourners come to change the flowers
To light the tea lights in their little jars
To fix the prayer flags and make good the ground.
The mothers, sisters, friends, unconscious of the passing cars
They are the acolytes who sanctify 
The earth here sensing that in some small way,
For now, for here at least, there is
Something truly sacred at this hallowed spot,
Here at this shattered wall, torn hedge, this scarred oak tree:
Their own Golgotha, their small Calvary.