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Donovan

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Do you remember Donovan? He is seventy eight years old now and lives in County Cork, Ireland - not far from Dave Northsider - our esteemed blogging colleague. Donovan's full name is Donovan Phillips Leitch and he was born in Glasgow, Scotland though both of his grandmothers were Irish. I must confess that when Donovan broke into the British folk-pop scene in the mid-sixties I was drawn to his music. It was pure, simple and unprocessed, driven principally by the lyrics. His output owed things variously to the hippy movement, to Bob Dylan and to anti-war artists. I saw him in concert three or four times and many years later saw him here in Sheffield. However, it didn't seem as those he had advanced. I even learnt to play several of his songs on my guitar, including the following one which many would argue is his best and best-known song - typical of him in his heyday. Please listen... In the East Yorkshire village where I grew up, my best friend during my teens was a lad ca...
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Closer

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I prepared a Sunday roast feast today. We had to extend out Victorian pine table by adding an old drop leaf table from the greenhouse. It worked out fine. Shirley put linen tablecloths over the whole shebang. All the people I love the most were in attendance: Shirley, Frances, Stew, Phoebe, Margot, Ian, Sarah and Zachary. The menu included roasted loin of pork, vegan nut roast, apple sauce, sage and onion stuffing, tender stem broccoli, roasted carrots and parsnips, roasted potatoes and two types of homemade gravy. This was followed by a homemade apple crumble using the last of the usable apples from our garden with vanilla custard or vegan ice cream. And of course there was water and fine wine to drink. I got to sit next to Margot who remains such a lovable child. She can mimic "mamama" and "dadada" now and when she stands without assistance for twenty seconds or more she is very proud of herself - clapping and laughing when she finally drops to the floor. Za...
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Checking The Boundary

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 I’m not sure what I’m all about today. It’s a nothing day as I’m back on nights. This time doing my own and not a colleague’s who had been delayed in the beautiful looking Sicily.  I’m mourning my cancelled trip to Italy and will organise one as soon as I can afford it . I’m sat at the kitchen table and the almond milk in my bucket of coffee has curdled.  The oven is purring and I’m going to be making soup soon Butternut squash, bean and chilli  I can hear pawsteps from the bathroom Soon Roger will jog purposefully through the kitchen and into the garden. He will do a figure of eight around the paths, give a half woof at the gate, then will watch the blackbirds or a sparrow for a while, or the bantam cockerel who still lives in the gardens west of the Church before bouncing back to the kitchen. He will stop for a head rub before sitting in the sunny spot on the living room carpet with the others.  An hour or so later he will be off on his rounds if ...
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