Cole Moreton

There is a choice to make, between love and hate. Choose love.

Somebody asked me at a gathering on Wednesday night if I had ever known politics so sad, so nasty, so vicious, so tinged with hatred. I said yes, remembering the miners strike and the poll tax riots and that time of great polarisation, because I know it’s cyclical and that if we fail to lookContinueContinue reading “There is a choice to make, between love and hate. Choose love. “

“A powerful story that reduced me to tears.” Ian McMillan on The Boy Who Gave His Heart Away

On one level, it’s a story of organ donation. On another level it’s an examination of language and how it reacts to tragedy. And on a profound level it asks us what life itself is. A powerful story that reduced me to tears. Ian McMillan is a writer and broadcaster I admire very much, soContinueContinue reading ““A powerful story that reduced me to tears.” Ian McMillan on The Boy Who Gave His Heart Away”

“When they talk about the war, will they remember me?” A last interview with the remarkable Dame Vera Lynn

Six years ago I went to the home of Dame Vera Lynn and listened to her sing along to recordings of her younger self. As far as I know, this was the last in-depth interview about her life that she ever gave. Softly, with a voice that is still clear after all these years, DameContinueContinue reading ““When they talk about the war, will they remember me?” A last interview with the remarkable Dame Vera Lynn”

The Elephant in the Dark

Well, that was fun. Appeared on The Big Questions this morning, attempting to say a couple of things. One is that if God does exist then it stands to reason that She/He must be a reality (whether acknowledged or not) for people of every creed from Atheists to Zoroastrians. Hence what is known as TheContinueContinue reading “The Elephant in the Dark”

Interviewing Michael Crawford, getting a bit weepy together for the love of our Nans

A long time ago – well, 1982, to be precise – I got on a number 38 bus from the Bakers Arms in Leyton with Gladys, my Nan. One of those women of a particular generation who had grown up in the East End listening to the cut-glass accents of the announcers on the BBC.ContinueContinue reading “Interviewing Michael Crawford, getting a bit weepy together for the love of our Nans”