I am now retired and able to pursue my main interests which are: birdwatching; photography; cricket; heritage railways; cooking; wine; literature; music (anything but Grand Opera and Country & Western); revolutionary politics; postmodern philosophy, poetry and cinema.

Please note that none of the images in my photostream may be copied, reproduced, published or distributed in any medium (print, websites, blogs, social or other media) without my explicit written permission.

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Fortune has no depth nor dances - (A poem by Christian James Malford - aged 17)

Ten thousand years older,

The whirlwind a foxtrot.

My swaying beauty dance only for these eyes,

Backwards & forwards the myriad of dragonflies.

To hopeless beauty; the song of the blackbird;

The chime of the bell;

It tolls not in cliches,

But as element to element.

I ride out on horseback,

Across the dark chessboard,

Singing songs to the old love,

Flying into magic future.

Harness this music, then read out aloud,

Grow harmony for old men who never were young,

Disillusioned by words and poverty of souls.

It grips - does not mean,

Flows out from the challice.

Grey night cold wind,

Distant hills all forbear.

Jargon - no more foxtrot,

Swirling dresses disappear,

They decreed no more waltzes,

Talking only of essence.

The old world is dying;

A sick man on the mattress.

He lies: and lies about all he has forgotten,

The pimpernel of the conscious,

Never seen inside.

Hear the words garbled: see the poet in the moon,

Lost in the legend of that smoky and very distant hill,

Whose peak is no mountain: whose base is no spine;

Where fortunes, pearls, great valuables of disgrace,

Abound in swirling mists:

Ghosts of strayed dancers