Lindisfarne “Meet me on the Corner”

If ever there was an iconic Newcastle band it would have to be Lindisfarne. They are best known for their hit song “Fog on the Tyne” which is seen by many as an anthem for Newcastle (Along with “Blaydon Races”) It is also the only song I have ever sung on a stage.

The band has been through many line up changes over the years and has disbanded and rebanded (just made up that word) a couple of times and is also famous on Tyneside for their Christmas concerts at the City Hall which are always popular and always sell out. For me the band peaked during the years when their main song writer was Alan Hull who sadly died suddenly of a heart thrombosis in 1995 aged 50. lindisfarne

I picked this song rather than “Fog on the Tyne” just because I like it more. I imagine it is about drugs but there could be another meaning. Let me know what you think.

Hey mister dream seller
Where have you been.
Tell me have you dreams I can see?
I came along, just to bring you this song,
Can you spare one dream for me?

My dreams slip quickly away from me in the morning. I imagine they have some urgent business and need to be off as soon as possible. I am left with only fragments and sometimes feelings of joy or sadness. They never make much sense and feature things like looking for a lost car in a car park or finding new rooms in my house that I didn’t know I had. 

My poem this week is about my dreams and therefore makes little sense.



I walk down streets of sullen staircases which spiral upwards

Entering hidden rooms I watch the walls wheeze and stretch

Straining to hear muffled voices I look around

A ghostly figure stands silent by the window ledge

I try to speak but my mouth is stuffed with straw

Above me swimmers flap their frozen wings

My car hides behind a lamppost sniggering and snuffling

I try to find the keys but they are just beyond my reach

Scolded by my boss for being ten years late for work

I retreat to the rooftop and look down on a unfamiliar city


©Jeff Price June 2018


Third Time Around

Scouting for Girls “She’s so Lovely”scouting for girls

I can not listen to this track without remembering the day I went to a friend’s wedding which took place in St Mary’s lighthouse in Whitley Bay and as Kate walked down the aisle my friend Simma sang this song.


kate fox
Kate Fox

I like a good wedding. It is at this point I can hear my Brother say something sarcastic like “Is that why you’ve been married so many times?” It does sound bad to say you have been married three times but in reality, the first time was a brief mistake of a teenager.
The second marriage lasted a long time and I am still with and very much in love with the third Mrs Price. We have been together now for nearly twenty years. I have two daughters from my second marriage and Lynda has three daughters. Our five daughters consider each other as sisters and Lynda’s daughters call me Dad.
We are a slightly dysfunctional but happy family.

Third time Around

Love for us was autumnal
A late flowering
We were retrospective lovers
Caught up in new beginnings
Scarred but not cynical
Scared and a little cautious
At times like excited teenagers
Rediscovering our emotions
Learning how to trust again

© Jeff Price June 2018

The Unexpected Chime

James Taylor “You’ve got a friend”

This is a track of its time. I have sometimes thought James is a little too “middle of the Road” for my taste but this track means a lot. Like me James Taylor is in his 70th year and is one of the best selling

jamestaylorfolk singers of all time selling over 100 million records. He is a prolific songwriter but I have chosen this track which was written by Carole King. King said the song was inspired by James Taylor song “Fire and Rain” which contains the line “I’ve seen lonely times when I could not find a friend” 
The track reminds me of all the good friends I have made over the years and also of those I have lost, some because they died or those friends who drifted away because their lives changed or mine did.

Yesterday I went to a hospital to collect a friend whose husband is terminally ill. She cannot drive and relies on others to give her lifts. She says she has been cheered by those who have stepped up and supported her and saddened by those who did not.
There have been times in my life when friends have stepped up for me. When the first Mrs Price left I was devastated but also amazed at the small acts of kindness that meant so much. The friend who came around with some food and a bottle of wine and listened while I wittered on about how sorry I was for myself.
On another occasion, after my second marriage broke up, a random woman in a pub chatted me up and although it came to nothing and was no more than a flirtatious few moments, I remember even today how I felt as I walked home with a smile on my face for the first time in ages. She will have no memory of it and doesn’t know that all those years ago she gave back hope to a broken-hearted stranger.
There are friends who you don’t see too often but when you do the years just seem to fall away. There are those who, although they are gone, you still remember with love and affection and one in particular who still visits me in my dreams.

My poem this week is about the spaces left by absent friends.

The Unexpected Chime


They’re are shared secrets in my house
Talk of things that have passed
and of things that are to come

They’re are empty wine bottles in my house
Crushed cans of Bavarian Beer
and discarded pieces of chocolate wrappers

They’re is music in my house
From bands who broke up years ago
and singers who sing no more

They’re are empty places in my house
Stacked with silent dining table chairs
and food strewn plates and stained coffee cups

They’re is poetry in my house
In books that line a bedroom wall
Signed by poets who write no more

They’re is hope in my house
From half forgotten small acts of kindness
and the unexpected chime of a doorbell


This Poem

Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five: The Message

This song is from 1982 and is widely acknowledge as the first Hip Hop song to make it into the charts (or the first Hip Hop song). This video is a bit dated but worth a watch. The lyrics are amazing:
Rats in the front room, roaches in the back
Junkies in the alley with the baseball bat
I tried to get away but I couldn’t get far
Cause a man with a tow truck repossessed my car

Despite the fact this record was released thirty five years ago nothing much seemed to have changed for people of colour in the USA. The Black Lives Matter campaign has highlighted the fact that police seemed to have a shoot first ask questions later policy for black people.

A disproportionate number of young black men end up in prison and the number of black homeless people is now estimated at 500,000. African Americans are only 12.6 percent of the country’s population and yet account for more than 40 percent of its homeless population.

My poem this week is about a teenager called Napoleon Beazley a young black man who


was involved in a car jacking during which a man called John Luttig died. It happened when he was 17 years old and although convicted as a minor he was still executed by lethal injection after spending eight years on death row. Napoleon said at his appeal.
“It’s my fault,” Beazley said at a court hearing , at which a judge set his execution date. “I violated the law . . . and I violated a family — all to satisfy my own misguided emotions. I’m sorry. I wish I had a second chance to make up for it, but I don’t.
Although Beazley had no final words, he left a written statement in which he accepted responsibility for the crime but opposed capital punishment. “No one wins tonight,” he wrote. “No one gets closure. No one walks victorious.”

The quotes are taken from an article in the Washington Post by Paul Duggan. For the full article click here

This is not to say that Napoleon Beazley should not have been punished or in any way to mitigate what he did but to execute someone is not the answer. I have always opposed the death penalty, it does not make people safer or deter those who would kill. The law rightly acknowledges that murder is a dreadful crime and that it deserves a severe sentence but to kill someone because you believe killing is wrong is nonsensical.

Eight countries in the world allow the execution of young people who have committed a crime when they were age 18 years of less Iran, Nigeria, Pakistan, Saudi Arabia, China, Yemen, Iraq and USA.
Since the USA Supreme Court allowed executions to resume in 1990 over 1,500 people have been executed.

This Poem

This poem shot John Luttig during the theft of his car on April 19th 1994
This poem was one of three men involved in the attack
This poem admitted that in the instant after it killed Mr Luttig
This poem was full of regret at the stupid and pointless waste of a life
This poem was seventeen and wasn’t old enough to buy alcohol or cigarettes
This poem was old enough for The State of Texas to sentence to death
This poem took only a few seconds to kill John Luttig
This poem was kept for eight years on death row in a cell 6 x 9 feet
This poem admits the killing of John Luttig was a senseless and heinous crime
The killing of this poem by the State of Texas was premeditated and in cold blood
The State of Texas executed this poem for a crime committed by a child

© Jeff Price March 2018

The Woman’s Room

Eurythmics, Aretha Franklin “Sisters Are Doin’ If For Themselves.”

In this blog I mentioned before that I am the Father to five daughters. Suzi and Amy to Aretha+Franklin+Annie+Lennox+25th+Anniversary+werbfMbaXB9lmy second marriage and Emma, Hester and Madeleine are my inherited daughters (I don’t like the word “Step”) from my marriage to Lynda. They are my delight and my joy. They have also taught me so much.

I was born into a typical patriarchal Northern family. My Dad was the head of the family and his word was God. My Mother left her job as a nurse when they started a family and brought up myself and my three brothers and my sister. She cooked, cleaned and was responsible for the house. My Dad went out to work and earned the money. This is the way it was and as a youngster I saw that as normal. My friend’s families were like that, the world was like that. 

As I got older I began to notice that things were not as simple as they seemed. My Mother was no docile domestic home keeper, she exercised her own power in the home but it was more discrete than my Father’s “Do as I say” attitude.

My Mother loved musicals and would often drag us along to the cinema to watch films like “Seven Brides for Seven Brothers” or “The King and I”. She had a collection of LP’s of the songs and loved to listen to them. The record player broke and she asked my Father to get a new one. She told him to get one of those fancy radiograms that were very popular. My Dad, never one to spend money he didn’t have to, did nothing about it. One day my 


Mother announced to my Father not to bother getting the stereo-gram as she had ordered one from the Catalogue Lady* and she would pay monthly for it. My Dad was outraged. He said they were overpriced  and he hated the idea of paying all that interest on the catalogue purchase. He stormed out of the house returning a few hours later with a beautiful wooden stereo-gram. My Mother was delighted. Later that day I asked my Mother if she had cancelled the order with the Catalogue Lady. She smiled and said “What order?” and winked at me.


The Seventies and the rise of the feminist movement would change much. Wielding discrete power, women demanded much more that a supporting role in the family and in society as a whole.

In 1977 I read The Woman’s Room by Marilyn French, it put into words all the things that had been swirling around in my head, it showed me the world from a woman’s perspective in a way that no other book ever had before. It changed me and although it is difficult, if not impossible for a man to be a feminist, I try my best.

This week’s song needs no further introduction but to say although the fight for equality has made much progress there is still so much more to do. 



The Woman’s Room


From the day a man said

“This is mine”

Rather than

“This is ours”

It all went wrong


Not that I had any idea

When, why or where

It was the way the world was

The way things had been

The way they would stay


“The Woman’s Room” changed me

It asked the questions

It challenged fallacies

In its pages I found a world

I had lived in all my life

And never knew existed


I was questioned

I was confronted

I made changes

I made goat’s cheese quiche

I changed dirty nappies

I changed my attitudes


©Jeff Price May 2018

*The Catalogue Lady would have a catalogue of products from a company such as Littlewood’s and you could order from the catalogue and pay for them weekly. The prices were high and the interest payments even higher but for working class families it was often the only way to get credit. 


Most Hated Things

Madness “One Step Beyond”

There is a salvation in Madness’s songs, they raises you up. I have never seen the band live but I imagine it is one of those gigs where no one can sit down and you come out feeling madness_7ten foot taller.

Music can do so much, it can move you to tears, it can make you angry with the world and it can bring you joy. Writing this blog and looking at the different types and styles of music that I have enjoyed over the years I can see why I love music so much. It’s an every day fix, it can change my mood, it can help me through difficult times. My only regret is that I have no singing voice and can not hold a note to save my life. My wife is in a choir and the people who organise it brag that they can take anyone and get them to sing. They haven’t heard my voice.

This week’s poem is a bit of fun like a Madness single it is designed to put a smile on your face. Save it for one of those days when nothing is going right or when you are feeling a little low. 

Most Hated Things


Raindrops on Mondays and Facebook kittens

Headphones on hippies and overweight Britains

Microwave meals and dogs on strings

These are a few of my most hated things


Back to front baseball caps and a cold bathtub

smokers in the doorways and deep fried pub grub

Mobiles in cafes and Paul McCartney’s Wings

These are a few of my most hated things


Charvers with pitbulls and girls with tattoos

Snowflakes on windscreens and pink Converse shoes

Sub zero winters that never become springs

These are a few of my most hated things


When a new born baby grins

when I count my lottery wins

When everything is as it should

I simply remember my most hated things

and then I don’t feel so good


© Jeff Price May 2018



Big Issue

Stranglers “No More Heroes”

It was 1977 when I saw The Stranglers at the City Hall in Newcastle. I remember the


electrifying power of the band and the fact that so few people could create so much noise was amazing. We were right up in the Gods but I felt pinned against the wall, the bass line hammering into my chest.
Like a lot of the punk bands at the time there seemed little separation between them and the fans. In fact by the end of the gig the stage was full of pogoing fans.
The theme of the song was something I disagreed with. There were heroes, people like Tony Benn, Dennis Skinner and Trade Union leaders like Arthur Scargill plus a little known back bench MP who always seemed to stand up for the marginalised and the oppressed called Jeremy Corbyn (I wonder what happened to him?).
I had also been very involved in supporting the Miners and I had seen the militarisation of the police and the impact that the Tory policies were having on the mining communities. Whilst the Police and the Government did everything they could to defeat the Miners other groups in society came to their support. Ordinary people all over the country gave magnificent support to the Miners in whatever way they could. I remember one Christmas being told by the local Miners Wives Support Group that they didn’t know what to do with all the turkeys they had been given. Sadly they were badly let down by their political leaders who had the chance to back the miners but did not.
Over the last couple of weeks I have been seething with anger about the Home Office treatment of the “Windrush Generation” and I can guarantee that behind the words nothing will change, they are metering the same hard faced treatment to migrants they have been heaping on the unemployed, low paid and the disabled. Their selfishness and greed has no limits and I despair when I see this crippled and broken world we are leaving to our children. If there ever was a time for the heroes to rise up it is now.
My poem this week is one person’s story. I think a big part of the problem is instead of many people seeing problems as statistics i.e too many immigrants, too many unemployed etc. What they need to do is see the person. Many people wanted the government to clamp down on immigrants and the government felt they had the authority to create a hostile environment but when they saw the reality of the damage it has done to peoples lives they are disgusted. See the person, see their problems and ask what we can do to help rather than how do we make the problem go away.

Big Issue

Homeless and rootless
Underclassed and underfed
No permanent address
No crib for a bed

An obstacle between her Father
And his latest girlfriend
Running out of floor space
Going round the bend

No address, no job
No work, no home
No matter, not important
Invisible and alone

Running out of food
Hope and self worth
A government statistic
An accident of birth

© Jeff Price April 2018

Roya Turkhel

Rolling Stones “Ruby Tuesday”

It isn’t often I click on a Rolling Stones track when I am cruising Spotify. They never rolling stonesappealed to me in the way that many other bands have but they are a party favourite and when I ran a disco you couldn’t have a night without them. You were always guaranteed to get everyone up on the dance floor if you played “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” or “Let’s spend the night together”. It’s remarkable that they are still touring and even more remarkable  that all of them (except Brian Jones) are still alive.

However the track was playing on the radio recently and I started to think about who Ruby Tuesday was and this week’s poem is her story (although a completely invented one) in her voice. 

Roya Turkhel

I am not Ruby Tuesday

I never was

My name is Roya Turkhel

But no one took the time

To learn how to pronounce my name

They gave me another instead


I am a descendant of Ahmad Shah Durrani

The founder of Afghanistan

I am Pashtun

I am a woman of no importance

To them

To them I am an insignificance

The cleaner of plates

The sweeper of floors


They robbed me of my name

Made it into a monument

To their hubris and importance

They never asked me

Where I came from

I am generations of yesterdays

Of Princes and Princesses

Lords of mountains

Keepers of history


To them I am a dark face

From a dark corner of the world

My name, like my country

Is an asset that enriches them

Yesterday does matter

I cling to yesterday

Because the mountains of the Kush weep bitter tears

That flow through the dusty streets of Kabul

Because in Kandahar the desert blown sand

Covers the tomb of Ahmad Shah Durrani

I am not Ruby Tuesday

I am Roya Turkhel

Great, Great, Great Granddaughter of a King


© Jeff Price May 2018

The Fountain

Smokey Robinson & The Miracles. “Tears of a Clown”

Another fab track. The group that later became the Miracles was formed in 1955 by five teenage friends from Detroit Michigan under the name the Five Chimes. Three of the founding members, Smokey Robinson, Pete Moore and Ronald White had been singing together since they each were around the age of eleven.  It must be because they know each others voices so well that you get those amazing close harmonies.

The lyrics are great as well. The song was written by Smokey with theundefined music coming from Stevie Wonder. After “Tears of a Clown” became a number one hit for Tamla Motown they toured extensively but Smokey wanted the home life in Detroit and he retired from the band to take up a management role in Motown Records.

Listening to the track it made me think how much I cry these days. When you are getting older you expect that your body will start to slow down and things will not work as well. Whilst you expect your bones to creak and your internal organs to rebel against the years of mistreatment, I was not expecting that my mental health would also begin to suffer. I have always been a bit of a softie and I never went in for that macho posturing that some Northern men think is a sign of manliness but I never thought I would start to cry at adverts or weep listening to a song. 

The Fountain


They stream down my face like a waterfall in flood

Brought to the surface by the most trivial of thoughts

I can ball during an advert for a building society

They can spring up at a story about a trapped chicken

Flow unbridled after a failed penalty in extra time

Watch me whimper like a baby at a picture of a distressed dog

My nasal passages snivel and snot in sympathy

I watch “Call the Midwife” through a misty veil of tears

Never stand next to me at a wedding or a funeral


©Jeff Price April 2018

The Matrix

Wheatus “Teenage Dirtbag”

This is a song for the outsiders, for the teenagers who are not sporty or a teacher’s pet. Like many of my chosen songs it has a story arc. It is the video as much as the song that sparked the memory recounted here.

In my teenage years there was a religious divide in the West End of Newcastle based around Catholic versus Protestant. Today the tapestry of divisions and misunderstandings is far more complex. Fear of the  “other”, those different to ourselves, led many people to vote for Brexit. Demanding that the “other” be stopped, curbed or banished.

When I was growing up in the West-End of Newcastle in the fifties and early sixties I was part of a Catholic community that had its roots in Ireland. We had educational segregation and I was taught by nuns in my primary school and priests in the high school (not all teachers were priests and nuns but they dominated the management and culture of the school).

Our high schools were also divided so that girls went to one school and boys to another. This meant that we boys had little social interaction with girls and non Catholics. Non Catholics largely meant Protestant as at that time there were very few other alternative communities in Newcastle

The Brighton Cinema now a bowling Alley
The Brighton Cinema now a Bowling Alley

Our main opportunity to meet girls was either at the church youth club which meant the steely eyes of the priests would be watching you and if necessary report back to your parents, or there were the two cinemas.

The Plaza and the Brighton Cinema sat on opposite sides of the West Road.  To avoid clashes between the Catholic and Protestant youth there was an unofficial peace line along the West Road and we went to the Plaza on the north side and they went to the Brighton on the south. In 1960 the Plaza closed and this led to a few problems but in 1963 the Brighton changed from a cinema into a bowling alley and that’s when things turned ugly.plaza

After a number of minor clashes including me getting beaten up in the toilets of the bowling alley, a big confrontation took place in a local park. Looking back it seemed like hundreds were involved but it was probably no more than thirty or forty.

I remember there was a lot of posturing and shouting but very few actual clashes but the fighting that did take place was vicious. Later, we got together with our rivals and worked out a deal where we could each use the Brighton Bowling Alley on different nights.

Today there is a lot of talk about gang culture. In the sixties you felt being part of a gang or being seen as part of a community afforded you some protection. The reality was being in a gang lead to more trouble not less and not just with rival gang members but also with the Police.

It did however, teach me a valuable life lesson. Violence only brings more violence and rarely solves anything. By negotiating we found a solution and if we had done it before I would have saved myself a swollen jaw and a few loose teeth.

This weeks poem is about one of my daughters when she was a teenager.

The Matrix


In the living room four teenage girls talk

Conducting a complex matrix of interwoven conversations

In the corner of the room the television demands attention

I ask them politely to turn down the volume

My daughter tells me they would miss a favourite TV program

I suggest that watching a television is impossible

When they are all talking at once

My daughter informs me that woman can do this


I know better than to quibble with her

You can not argue with an article of faith

It forms part of her feminist catechism

Passed down from Mother to Daughter

Since the nineteen eighties

I retreat to the bathroom and wallow in the warm water

Turning up the radio to drown out the sound of the voices in my head


© Jeff Price April 2018