Born to a soul-less suburb of South Manchester in ’62 .
He peddles songs and poetry political and personal to a paltry
audience. He wasted years as a feckless facilitator in a failing
educational establishment and now sits in damp silence in a
shed at the bottom of his garden, slaughtering a noble art,
He often wanders the stony trails of Greece hearing rock falls,
cicades, the lap of the azure and Ritsos while sharing the chocolate
of the carob with mountain goats. Well, to be honest, he’s tried it once or twice and the taste is ……