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Stone Clearing With Richard Herring was not even nominated for a British Podcast Award (admittedly we didn’t pay to enter it, but that’s hardly the point). it says a lot about the awards that there isn’t even a stone clearing category. At least Bryan Bramble wasn’t nominated. Show them how wrong (and behind the times) they were by
voting it as best podcast here.
Chapter 19 was recorded tonight and I was haunted by the laughter and voices of unseen children as I cleared. Are the stones literally talking to me? Tune in on Tuesday to find out.
We’re getting a bit more sleep these days (though I always wake up before the kids) but life still passes in a bit of a blur. And my middle age is making itself known. Not only do I have to go to the loo three or four times, even if I have made a point of not drinking anything at all in the evening, but my eye sight, once so sharp and perfect) is adding to the blurriness of life. In Brighton last week I had to sew a button on to my shirt. I tried to thread the needle for a good 15 minutes, but could barely tell which end of the needle had the hole in it and needed to call for the assistance of someone with young eyes. I recalled having to thread needles for my grandmother when I was a child - but even that memory was blurry, like I might have made it up. On Saturday I played a game with Phoebe that involved using a red coloured film to read secret writing on the back of a card. I could see that there was writing there, but I could not read it. I have reading glasses, but I always forget to carry them with me, preferring to pretend like Donald Pleasance in the Great Escape that my sight is still perfect.
I can’t really trust my eyes. When I dropped my producer off after the Brighton gig after midnight, I was turning the car around in the car park when a creature scuttled across the tarmac. It was about the size of a rat and logic dictates that it must have been something of that kind, except it scuttled like an alien and seemed to have too many legs and looked to me, in the flash of darkness, like a rat-sized wood louse. It’s possible that it was. But maybe I was hallucinating through tiredness and misinterpreting the signals. It’s also remarkable that I forgot about that moment when I came to write my blog of that day and just remembered about it on my dog walk this morning. What was that thing? I don’t think I am going mad. But I am hearing voices and seeing prehistoric insects. So the only explanation is that it is the end of days.
Also the aliens are injecting liquid into my bladder when I am sleeping and rubbing alien unguents on to my eyeballs to stop me seeing properly.
I am not getting old.
I am putting together a new tour programme for RHLSTP and as usual I am giving you the chance to donate some money to SCOPE and get your name in the programme AND get a signed limited edition programme sent to you when it’s ready (just email me your address to herring1967@gmail.com).
Donate at least £15 here (the more you donate, the bigger your name will appear)
Whatever name you put down as your donator name will be what appears in the programme - you can put whatever you like in the box. I promise to print it.
