Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It has been four years since my last confession. That is to say, since I last wrote a word of creative fiction. It was four years ago that I submitted my novel, Killing Beauties, a work of historical fiction based largely on the real lives of two seventeenth century women, to my publisher. It failed to set the world alight. I think it sold four copies in 2022. And yet I call myself a writer.
That’s right, it’s time, once again, for World Parkinson’s Day. I’ve often wondered about the wild proliferation of ‘days’ such as this. I presume the trend stems from the 1919 adoption of 11.11 as Commonwealth Remembrance Day following the ‘war to end all wars’. This day has, of course, not only turned into remembrance minute, but has been joined in the calendar by more ‘days’ than I care to count Continue reading
At this moment, my body and brain are shutting down. It’s 2.45pm. I need a nap. This is partially because I suffer from chronic insomnia (and have done for well over a decade), and partially because I am simply exhausted. I’ve had breakfast, indulged in some domestic drudgery, been shopping, had some lunch and had a short twitter with a friend on the demon drugs that are called dopamine agonists. Continue reading
In celebration/commemoration of the fourteenth anniversary of my diagnosis with Parkinson’s Disease, I re-published 14 articles of mine, one a day for two weeks. Here’s the countdown!
1. Ten Years a Slave – I wrote this on the tenth anniversary of my diagnosis, and it includes extracts from Slender Threads. As such it’s an interesting snapshot of strange times.
2. The Longest Wait – A piece I wrote for The Independent in May 2008, a few months after my diagnosis. It’s all about the future, of course, it’s just that the future is now. I wrote no. 2 of my 14 pieces of Parkinson’s for the Independent in May 2008, a couple of months after diagnosis. It’s about the future as it appeared at the time. Also here. Continue reading
This is what I wrote for The Independent on 6 May 2020
It might be a cliché that it takes a real jolt to the system to make a person feel their mortality (as opposed to merely “knowing” it), but it’s true. What no one ever says is that this jolt can also make us question something else that we generally take for granted: our normality. Continue reading
Just a little expansion on the story behind Gladiators, Ready? the first release from the upcoming Dancing with Architects.
All proceeds to Spotlight YOPD, a charity dedicated to helping those diagnosed with Parkinson’s at an unseasonably young age. You can stream it on …
SPOTIFY — APPLE MUSIC — TIDAL
In short, the tune is a 1995 recording resurrected and re-produced with the help of some fabulous guest artists, namely Bryan McClellan on drums, Mel Gabbitas on bass, Phil Hilborne – Guitar solos 2 & 4 (2.37-2.52: 4.13-4.28), Steve Forward – Guitar solo 3 (4.00-4.13), and Bora Uslusoy – Guitar solo 5 (5.30-5.45). All other guitars by Pete in 1995. Original recording 1995 by Pete Langman and Gregory Humair, re-recording and re-production in 2021 by Bora Uslusoy.
Available now on SPOTIFY – APPLE MUSIC – TIDAL
‘More chops than a butcher’s shop’ – Phil Hilborne, UK guitar legend
‘This kicks ass’ – Jamie Hunt, One Machine, BIMM, Guitar Techniques
That’s right, it’s my new/old single, all proceeds to Spotlight YOPD. Here’s the story: Continue reading
Here’s an interview I recently did on elizabethnharris.net, which only had a short shelf-life, so I thought I’d plonk it down here to keep you amused …
They say that the unexamined life is not worth living. So here’s my life in publishing. Albeit a rather truncated version.
Twenty-five years ago I was a rock guitar player of no little repute (but far less cash), but I was struggling. Continue reading
No, Not That Bell.
Silence comes in many forms. One of the most delightful is the silence of anticipation. The silence announced by the gentle intoning of the word ‘play’; the silence that builds as the bowler looks at their feet and begins their run-up for the first ball of a match. At the ringing of the pavilion bell, the rattle and hum of the Lord’s crowd falls to a murmur. And then, play. Continue reading