Tom Wiggins, Letter Carver & Writer

My brother was told today that he's secured an interview to study Postgraduate Medicine at Newcastle University.  Out of a thousand entrants, only two hundred were accepted for interviews.  I don't want to jinx it, but it's some very good news after he worked so hard on his personal statement.  Here's how I congratulated him over text:      A response poem or a silly game of word association?  The half rhyme of Grove/Cole was a  happy coincidence.

without mum, our cousins in Westcliff-On-Sea would just be dad’s sister’s boys; though seen in photographs, nothing more than a passing reference when somebody mentioned Essex. Instead - and because of mum’s influence – our lives were intertwined, a join at the hip  from birth that still stretches  the length of the  M4 corridor. The only difference is that we’ve become  closer:  a reunion proves again the glow,  the warmth – the whatever; the kind of calm familiarity that comes from having grown up together. (the final two lines were taken from Gail Tsukiyama’s The Samurai’s Garden) 18 July 1992: the four cousins together. From left to right: Steven, Paul, James (my brother) and me.

On the fourth day of Christmas,  the Guildhall will give to me, One Jack Bevan, One Jimmy Smith, One Walter Gervers, One Edwin Congreave, and a Yannis Philippakis. For the uninitiated, these five chaps make up Foals, NME Award Winners and floppy-haired indie rock extraordinaires.  Only the great Laura Marling can claim to have crooned more frequently in my Peugeot 206.  To come second only to the great Marling should be celebrated; such is my obsession with female singer-songwriters that if Foals' second album, Total Life Forever hadn't been so damn good, my Top Five Most Played would consist entirely of the fairer sex.  So when I found out that Foals were playing Gloucester Guildhall - a venue that is less than a mile away from where I live - I almost fell over.  My excitement was by no means an isolated incident; the county went berserk when word got around.  When tickets went on sale at the Guildhall box office, they sold out...

The Savile Row tailors knew it,  the Martini drinkers knew it,  the Aston Martin Owners Club knew it,  MI5 secretly knew it,  Her Majesty knew it,  her corgis, cocking their heads, knew it,  He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named knew it,  the femme fatales knew it,  001, 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6 knew it,  Q knew it,  M knew,  even J and K from Men in Black knew it,  Ian Fleming most certainly knew it,  Sir Connery and Sir Moore knew it,  in fact, every incarnation knew it,    heck, even David Niven knew it,  while all those who had every crossed him knew it, and all the women who had ever loved him knew it.

Council Chairman: All those in favour of passing a motion to commission the design and build of a giant public storage cabinet intended for permanent placement in the centre of town, say I.   - Council Chairman: This microphone must be faulty.  I said, all those– Council Board Member: Derek, we heard you the first time.  And you've never had a microphone.  

One or two posts ago,  you may have read as this flag-waving patriot waxed lyrical over how Britain was restored to its natural Britishness in 2012.  The Queen's Diamond Jubilee and The London Games ticked all the right boxes in terms of what the events had set out to achieve.  The year 2012 silenced even the most pessimistic of pessimists.  The glass-fully-empty types had to concede that they enjoyed 2012 as much as the rest of us.  If they said they didn't, then they're lying.     I had watched highlights from the opening ceremony of the London Olympics from a hotel room in Miyajima, Japan.  I returned to  England on the Tuesday following the opening ceremony, so I hadn't really missed very much.  London Heathrow was buzzing with the salutations of track-suited volunteers.  Helpfulness was projecting out of mouths like pea soup from Linda Blair.  Everyone was falling over themselves - possessed, should we say - to hel...

Untroubled, unhurried,  loyal to the knock,  silent - they waited.   Time took leave of itself.   James rolled on his heels,  stopping at intervals.  Will watched a plane  and he did so open-mouthed  and that’s all he did.   A bush rustled somewhere.   Should we go? I asked.  James turned his head, looked at me.   What for? We haven’t spoken to them yet.  We’ve knocked, I said.  Yes.   And they’re not in.  He looked at Will.  Will looked down, looked at me.   I looked back at Will.   Will turned to James.   I thought you said they go to City.   You said the thing said they went to City   They do go to City, James said.   The thing did say it. Will smiled, relaxed.   Don’t worry, he smirked.   They go to City.   The thing said so.  Another knock.   They’re in, James said.   They go to City....

What more can you say about a year that will be remembered so fondly through red, white and blue?  The Queen’s Diamond Jubilee and London 2012 was the double bill that the British people needed: the veritable chap stick that softened the stiffened upper lips of a Britain in recession.  Even those who would otherwise have complained about buying Union Jack bunting would have had to acknowledge its timeliness.  Has there been another period in British history in which we could use such a patriotic street lining, not once, but twice, and within two months of each another?  To line the streets would be to give back to the people what the rioters of 2011 took away.  We came together to restore the image of a truly  Great  Britain.   So how do you sum up a year so steeped in glory?  Its pinnacle was arguably 4th August 2012 – the aptly-named "Super Saturday".  It was Britain’s most successful day in the Olympics for more than a century a...

(Based on Sam Willetts' ‘Coupe De Foudre’, taken from New Light for the Old Dark ) A drunk bird falls at a rate that’s reckoned  as thirty-two feet per second, per second.  In Wetherspoons, her distance like a  collision beckoned: thirty-two feet per second  per second.

Marcus Mumford, third from left, makes up the folk four-piece.  Marcus Mumford of indie folk outfit Mumford & Sons hit the headlines earlier this week when he revealed the source of a line featured in a song from the band's latest album.  In an interview with BBC 4's Front Row, he admitted to 'lifting' a line from Hilary Mantel's Booker Prize-winning novel, Wolf Hall.  The line features in the band's second album and follow up to their wildly successful 2009 debut, Sigh No More - itself a reference to Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing.  The title track's opening line begins "serve God, love me and mend", which was a line spoken by Benedick in the Bard's comedy of manners.   Mantel's Wolf Hall won the Booker Prize in 2009 Mumford played down suggestions that their literary influences exceed those of their musical contemporaries, but says references to books appear regularly in their songs, with influences ranging fr...

Joanna Newsom with Kermit the Frog Last night I dreamt that I found Walnut Whales, Joanna Newsom's self-released debut EP in a second hand record shop.  I was so overwhelmed by the find that I felt my hand shaking as I took it to the counter.  Fans of Newsom will testify that this is the most sought-after album in her catalogue, pre-dating The Milk-Eyed Mender - her official debut - by two years.  When I woke, I felt the pang of disappointment to find that it was only a dream.        I've seen Joanna Newsom perform both indoor and out.  The first occasion was in 2008 when I saw her perform in the truly  spectacular neo-classical setting of Somerset House.  She didn't play Ys - her second full-length album - from start to finish as she had done as part of the Ys tour, but we were treated to some highlights from The Milk-Eyed Mender, Ys, as well as Colleen (from her 2008 EP,  Joanna Newsom & the Ys Street Band)...

Tom Wiggins: What are your first impressions of Michael Fassbender/Brandon's running style? Paul Whittaker: He's running nice, smooth and relaxed. He seems like he has a good amount of fitness and he is running well within himself in terms of pace. TW: What improvements could he make to his running style? PW: The main improvement I'd make is his foot plant.  He lands heel first and this causes a 'breaking' effect when travelling forwards.  If he landed on his mid-foot/forefoot, this would be a much better for impact stress and propulsion going forward into the next running stride. TW: Regarding his speed, how many minutes per mile is he running? PW: I would say he is running approx 7-7.30 minutes per mile. TW:  What do you make of his stride lengths?  Is he overstriding/understriding? PW: The actor is definitely overstriding in this clip.  It would help if his feet landed underneath and below his centre of gravity. TW: What's his posture like? PW: A slight forw...

The bags on the ground a pound! The bags a pound on the ground! The bags on the ground a pound! The bags a pound on the ground! Wow , I thought.  I pointed. Those bags                        Those bags              Those bags Each a quid? Yes, mate. Good lord. You can’t fault the fee of the fruit on the floor! You can’t fault the fruit of the fee on the floor! You can’t fault the flaws of the fruit on the floor! Your fruit is free as I flee from your stall!

Did you blub at Bambi?  Get Extremely Tearful over E.T?  Did you melt at the sight of The Snowman?  If the answer to any of these questions is 'yes', please look away now. For many of us, the memory of crying over cartoons is as much soaked in nostalgia as the event itself was soaked in tears.  Now we've grown up, we're over our childhood cinematic losses.  Sure, there's always a few hiccups: Marley & Me may quiver a lip, but Disney's deer, home-phoning aliens and sweating snowmen no longer have the emotional pull as they once did.  But that's fine.  They were fundamental in our emotional development and we're now the better for it.  We can move on.     And yet, there are two children in America who have been stripped of this basic human right.  The trauma of a tearjerker was one thing, but like any trauma, its aftermath should not - I repeat, should not - be filmed.  Parents are within their rights to tell an emb...

Will you marry  me when you're  70  and have  nothing to lose ?

Sea of Bees - Willis Camille - Wet Boy Regina Spektor - Somedays  Tiny Vipers - Dreamer  Feist - Service Bell Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Maps Sia - Soon We'll Be Found Joanna Newsom - Does Not Suffice Laura Marling - Blackberry Stone My Brightest Diamond - All Things Unwind 

Usain Bolt winning the semi finals at the London Olympic Games with ease We've got under an hour to go until the Olympic 100 Metre Final.  Ever since Bolt dismantled the competition in Beijing, I've been intrigued to find out whether he can do it in the same fashion again in London. On paper at least, Bolt was none-too impressive in the 100 metre heats, winning the race in 10.08 seconds, but he did what he had to do to get into the next round.  The semi-finals revealed a Bolt of old: a Bolt capable of dismantling the competition and having enough time to look around to see their reaction.  In the BBC analysis afterwards, Michael Johnson said that he could have run two tenths of a second faster if he hadn't slowed down.  His winning time in the semis was 9.87 seconds, meaning he could have run the race in 9.67 seconds.  Not even Yohan "The Beast" Blake would be able to compete with that.  They finished the analysis off by saying "Blake was fantastic, bu...

In April, my uncle and I went to see award-winning poet Martin Figura read from "Whistle", his second full-length collection of poetry.  His performance caused quite a stir at Ledbury Poetry Festival in 2010, where he received a standing ovation, which by all accounts is not an easy thing to do at Ledbury.  Not only was this for the Shropshire poet's extremely poignant and unsentimental verse, but for his understated and - at times - humorous delivery of it.  Without having previously read any of Figura's work, I purchased Whistle before his performance as part of Cheltenham Poetry Festival.  Thumbing through its pages, first impressions of his poetry proved dark.  And relentlessly so.  I prepared myself, and warned my uncle. 'When Martin Figura was  nine years old, his father killed his mother,' as begins the blurb of the Whistle tour.  I could see where Cheltenham Poetry Festival were coming from when they booked the rather severe and low-...

"I suppose the thing I would most like to have known or be reassured about is in the world what counts more than talent, what counts more than energy, or concentration, or commitment or anything else, is kindness.  And the more in the world you encounter kindness and cheerfulness - which is its kind of amiable uncle or aunt - just the better the world always is.  And all the big words: virtue, justice, truth, are dwarfed by the greatness of kindness." - Stephen Fry

My slender, bruise-black, midnight swan,  Your twin is bound in white,  Your fickle form is passion-drenched In artificial light.