It’s an iceberg. I’m telling you it is” said a normally sedate Marcus Brigstocke. “it is not!” frowned Sunand Prasad , head of the Royal Institute of British Architects. Sunand marched away back to the ship. “it is though” muttered Marcus.   more »

Listening to radio an interviewer ask their interviewee "describe the experience for the listener". Description is all the listener needs, imagination does the rest. "well..." come's the reply "its just too beautiful for words". The answer makes me want to rip out the interviewees tongue and slap them with it.   more »

The Ship is in pitch darkness  now.  The engine is turning over gently. Many of the crew are in their quarters.  The captain is upon the bridge and the anchor is far below,   in the beneath world, holding us tightly onto this one.

The ship protected by cupped hands of light awaits morning.  From the sky we are a firefly caught  upon a spiders web wafting  in wind.   Snowflakes flocks of white butterfly spirits  released from under the clouds  land on my shoulders. And as the they melt the sun smears itself on the back of the clouds who in turn spread her light equally across the sky. Morning has come.

There's forty six passengers, nineteen Russian crew, three international expedition staff and three international hotel and catering staff. It was stormy last night. The Gregory Mikheev, all two hundred and ten feet of her, tilted and bobbed like a jack- in-a-box. At twelve and an half knots she crashed through the night sky, a shadow cutting through a shadow, lighthouse spills midnight truths from the ragged coast. Morning breaks through and there's no sea sickness, only wonder.

I am travelling through the sea at night and I am not sure which sea it is. I am in the Arctic, so it could be the Arctic sea. I have travelled across the world to be here but I am not sure which countries I have passed. I have no idea which hemisphere I am in. I think I am in the southern hemisphere but I am not sure. I can find out but at time of writing I am not sure. I don’t know what time it is.   more »

You are not currently connected to any networks.  My remote wireless connection won’t work because I am somewhere too remote. A backbone of water  slithers behind the ship as it bows  out of the fjord from Greenland. To each side  great warriors made of rock,  protectors of landmass,  line the coast and watch us go quietly.  The ship hums,  gallantly rises up and down as  waves dive to each side of stern.

Shit. I am in Iceland, with photographers, painters, composers, lyricists, musicians and scientists. We are all travelling en route to the Arctic to experience Climate Change. Fifty percent of us know exactly why they are here. They have projects to work on and numbers to crunch. And the other fifty percent? Guess which one I am in? But am I missing something, it’s climate and it’s changing. Don’t we experience climate change wherever we are: Paris, New York or London. Nature is by virtue, everywhere, so why the Arctic and why artists?    more »

I don’t do it a lot but I did it today. I did. I j sent out an email advertising my forthcoming book to everyone on my email list. At least it was democratic, journalists got the same message as distant friends.   more »

But as I can't reveal our deliberations - a final decision has not yet been reached I consider the audience. The dance audience is captivating. The angular near spikey faces of the fairer sex and the look-me -in-the-eye body language is very attractive. So too the intensity.   more »

It's a picture of me doing the incredible  disappearing body trick, something most children can do, but lose the ability as they grow older. I sent this blog using word 2007 so it's a test post really

Problem solved I told myself and entered the adjacent room to see if there was a connecting door to the library, but as the door of that room closed behind me I just knew. I was locked in to one of the most energy efficient buildings in Germany.   more »

Tonight was the 2009 launch for the letterbox Club on the 10th floor of The Penguin Offices on The Strand in London.   more »

Everytime I got close to write a voice in my head would say, facebook facebook you must go onto facebook or tv tv must watch tv.   more »

I bike through East London, down Brick Lane, past the art galleries, bangaladeshi restaurants, and fashion studios to Toynbee Studios. Each day this week I am ploughing the script, rehearsing   more »

Lufthansa touches down at London Heathrow at 8.45am. At 11am I arrive at  Fen Court in The City of London. A sculpture inscribed with The Gilt of Cain, my poem,  awaits its unveiling at 11am.

Bishop Desmond Tutu   with his trademark smile and open arms floats in with his son Mthunzi Gxashe. The heavens open their arms too and as  rain falls down umbrellas flip up. Speeches are delivered and as the Bishop unveils the plaque  the rain simply stops.

I step upon the podium and read the poem  The Gilt of Cain.   It  shall be here in The City of London for an hundred years or more,   to commemorate the abolition of The Slave Trade Act by William Wilberforce.  David Mcalmont sings Amazing Grace and as he did it was magical to watch the secret opening windows of the office blocks that surround the square. The writer of that great song  was once a preacher  at the church which was  built on this ground.

As the event ends the Bishop leaves and  I get into a taxi  home with the journalist,  were  a package awaits. It is  the final copy of my book Listener.  It's good to be home.

I found my fathers birthplace today. Coincidentally it is 1st September, eleven days before the anniversary of my fathers passing in a plane crash in the mountains of Gondar on September 11th 1973. I visited the plane crash site in 1995 with a BBC film crewe. I leave my grandfather and grandmother to rest in peace.   more »