The Written Word Group

                                                                        Music. Dedicated to my family. Father. Your voice was deep and rich, like the leading men in the black and white musicals we would watch on a Sunday afternoon. Nelson Eddy, Mario Lanza, Howard Keel played from 33s in the background. The scratch of the needle on vinyl as you changed the record. Loud hammering on the wall meant you wanted one of us to fetch something for you. The contrast between love ballads and your unpredictable temper created a menacing air that floated throughout the house. How we cheered as we watched you turn the corner. Dressed in your best suit, we were free for a few hours as you drank away your earnings. How often you told us that you were the last of the real men. You had no idea what a real man was. Mother. Was it the love of music that brought you together? ‘Somewhere over the Rainbow’ ‘The Man that got away’ Your bluesy voice suited those songs so well. In another life you could have b

Music has always been a big factor in my life. It holds more than notes and words. It holds memories intertwined, enmeshed within the melody. I can’t separate them. They’re the, Higgs Boson God Particle Glue, to my existence. A Large Cern Hadron Collider soundtrack, to a long life lived. Hearing a song can trigger a type of, "Post Traumatic Stress," music-field flashback.  Music will do that. Transport you, instantaneous, to a place long ago and far away. A Dr Who Tardis experience, via invisible radio waves. And it's usually a golden oldies channel, that triggers the time jump. Your everyday life is parked for that moment, as you take the way back nostalgia express, down the rabbit hole well travelled. John McCormack singing, “Little Town in the oul County Down,” has me back in the house of my childhood. It’s coming up to Christmas, snow is falling, and my Dad has invited all his pals back for a sing song. My poor hard-working Mom pulled away from her Christmas preparati

                                                                           M y brain and heart divorced a decade ago over who was to blame about how big of a mess I have become. Eventually, t hey couldn’t be in the same room  as one another. Now my head and heart share custody of me. I stay with my brain during the week  a nd my heart  ge ts me on weekends. They never speak to one another, – instead, they give me the same note to pass to each other every week and the notes they send to one another always says the same thing: “This is all your fault’ On Sundays  m y heart complains about how my  head has let me down in the past,  and on Wednesday  my head lists all o f the times my  heart has screwed th ings up for me  in the future. They blame each   other for the  state of my life. There’s been a lot   of yelling – and crying so   lately,  I’ve been   spending a lot of time with my gut  who serves as my unofficial therapist. Most nights I sneak out of the   window in my ribcage  and s

  If you have nothing planned for this coming Star Wars Day , May the Fourth be with you. Then join Berni Albrighton , Author of:  ‘ The Old Man of Tiritiri Matangi ’   Thursday 4th May 1.45pm to 3.45pm: And learn more about the New Zealand conservation island of Tiritiri Matangi. At the Albox venue:  Charlottes Bar Av. Lepanto, Albox  Map directions:    Charlotte's Bar & Restaurant You will get an introduction to the island and the wildlife that live there. If you are interested in wildlife and conservation or you just want to know more about this strange sounding island, come along and be enchanted. An entrance fee of 2.50 euros per person enters you into a draw for the  chance to win a signed copy of the beautiful book                       The Old Man of Tiritiri Matangi You can also buy one of the few remaining copies of the book. There will be an auction and raffle so don’t leave home without your Euros All proceeds raised go to the APSA Animal Protection Society of Albox