charles barrow's writing

The autumn is my favourite season. I've heard it described as summer with a side serving of melancholy, and that sounds about right to me. I enjoy taking walks in nature and seeing the trees, shrubs, and flowers winding down after all the hard work of putting their best feet forward all summer, and now bedding down for the winter. And that's what autumn is, for me, it's weeks of preparation for the cold months of winter. Obviously there's the always satisfying job of shaking the mothballs out of your warmest knitwear, but beyond the practical tasks there is the mental preparation that needs to be done ahead of the arrival of the dark months. I like to set myself a long-term project that can keep me occupied for months. Something I can do indoors, and that'll keep my brain active. It might be a reading challenge, or a writing project. I also draw up a list of practical chores to do that I've been ignoring; sewing a button back on a shirt, putting a nail in the wa

The circus. Equal parts exciting and terrifying. I see this big-top appear, overnight, in the local park and I'm powerfully drawn to it, my inner child suddenly as excited as he used to be on Christmas mornings. But, grown-up me is very slightly unsettled by it. I never read a book, or saw a film wherein a circus coming to town didn't bring something sinister and wicked with it. I n the next few days, t here will be much joy, and laughter reverberating inside that big-top, but not all of us will sleep easy in our beds until it leaves town.   Photo is the author's own

'The best time to plant a tree is 20 years ago. The next best time to plant a tree is today.' African proverb. I've adopted a tree. A Turkish Hazel. It was planted, earlier this year, in the grass verge opposite my house. It took me a couple of months to notice that there was a QR code attached to the metal cage surrounding the tree, protecting it from the wind and, more probably, drunken vandal damage. I scanned the code with my phone, something I've never done before without adult supervision. It took me to a dedicated website that told me the tree's story; age, seasonal appearance, prospective height/width etc and where I also found a plea for assistance. Would I help this tree by agreeing to water it? If so, it would need 20 litres of water a week throughout the growing season (March-Oct). This seemed like quite a responsibility, for one as distracted as me, who struggles sometimes to keep myself fed and watered, but after only a short period of reflection (less

I was genuinely thrilled to see this plaque on the wall of a house in East Dean, East Sussex. I'd never have made a career of being a detective. I t took minutes for the penny to drop. Sherlock would not have been impressed, nor Poirot.  

I thought it time for a reading update, as I haven't done one of these for a while. Real Life by Brandon Taylor. If you've read my second December '23 post, you'll know that this is the library book that I'm reading. It lives in the library. I don't check it out. I have to go to the library to sit and read it. It's a challenge I set myself, late last year. Visit the library more often, and sit in there to actually read a book. I'm currently up to page 212 in Real Life. I'm, low key, enjoying it. Obviously spreading my reading of a book over such a long period, five months and counting, and only reading small chunks of it at a time, has affected how I consume it and retain details of the story. I'm not sure I'd do this again, unless it is with a non-fiction book. I think that would work better. Let Us Now Praise Famous Gardens by Vita Sackville-West. I recently read this small book that I'd owned for a while and hadn't got around to. I

I'll always take a moment to stop and read a blue plaque, when I see one affixed to a house or building, to see who is being honoured, or remembered. Who once lived, or stayed, visited briefly, or otherwise bestowed their glorious presence upon said house or building. By definition, the plaques memorialise eminent people; the great and the good (but hopefully the slightly shady too), otherwise, what's the point? Who would care about a plaque dedicated to someone who achieved nothing of note? Maybe their close family would care, but the rest of us? Probably not. And what I would be curious to know is the minimum amount of time an eminent personage needs to remain in a building before that building can claim bragging rights and raise a plaque dedicated to that personage. The case of Charles Dickens is the reason I ask this question. I have spent years, all my adult life, living in various towns along the south coast of England, and almost all of them have had a blue plaque dedica