My name is Geoff Le Pard. Once I was a lawyer; now I am a writer. I've published several books: a four book series following Harry Spittle as he grows from hapless student to hapless partner in a London law firm; four others in different genres; a book of poetry; four anthologies of short fiction; and a memoir of my mother. I have several more in the pipeline.
I have been blogging regularly since 2014, on topic as diverse as: poetry based on famous poems; memories from my life; my garden; my dog; a whole variety of short fiction; my attempts at baking and food; travel and the consequent disasters; theatre, film and book reviews; and the occasional thought piece. Mostly it is whatever takes my fancy.
I avoid politics, mostly, and religion, always. I don't mean to upset anyone but if I do, well, sorry and I suggest you go elsewhere.
These are my thoughts and no one else is to blame. If you want to nab anything I post, please acknowledge where it came from.
Ever viewed with an irreverent eye Geoff. I shall never be able to listen to Clifford T. Ward’s Home Thoughts from Abroad without expecting your lyrics to appear.
Hugs
Having lived in the North East for a number of years before heading west, this could easily be a Geordie lamenting their exile in Sunderland (well apart from the craving for warm flat beer). Excellent stuff, Geoff.
funny how many versions or ‘abroad’ there are … mind you having fallen foul, at Uni, of the Newcastle, Sunderland, Middlesborough dichotomy, lumping them all together as Geordies, I understand how close ‘foreign’ can be..
Your dog looks quite put out here. 😉 It’s true, no matter how rough, home is the best but you can keep the warm flat beer. Ice cold is the only way to drink it.
well, my dad drank ale and it wasn’t ever chilled so he’d may be debate that but he’d always appreciate someone who appreciates beer whhowever they took it
Ever viewed with an irreverent eye Geoff. I shall never be able to listen to Clifford T. Ward’s Home Thoughts from Abroad without expecting your lyrics to appear.
Hugs
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Thanks Dave. I wonder how far you have to go before you reach ‘abroad’? Sometimes it can be very close, can’t it?
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Having lived in the North East for a number of years before heading west, this could easily be a Geordie lamenting their exile in Sunderland (well apart from the craving for warm flat beer). Excellent stuff, Geoff.
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funny how many versions or ‘abroad’ there are … mind you having fallen foul, at Uni, of the Newcastle, Sunderland, Middlesborough dichotomy, lumping them all together as Geordies, I understand how close ‘foreign’ can be..
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Lol 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣
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Poor pack dog – he doesn’t even want to go ……. And truly this sounds like every discontented Pom immigrant who rocked up here in the 60’s and 70’s……….
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Surely no one has visited your divine country and not fallen in love with it… or was it because he then met the locals…?
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Ah the joys of returning home to the familiar although not entirely pastoral. A fun take on a flighty bit of fluff! Again, I prefer yours.
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I detect a certain gratifying bias in your preferences – keep them coming!!
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There’s no place like home. Even with the bores, potholes, and warm beer. 🙂
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all the main attractions. Funny what we think of as ours, they may be rubbish but they’re our rubbish
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The look on the dog says it all! I love traveling but coming home is always wonderful. Great take on the poetry but where is ‘abroad’ in this case?
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ah indeed there are so many versions of ‘abroad’ even close to home…
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Your dog looks quite put out here. 😉 It’s true, no matter how rough, home is the best but you can keep the warm flat beer. Ice cold is the only way to drink it.
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well, my dad drank ale and it wasn’t ever chilled so he’d may be debate that but he’d always appreciate someone who appreciates beer whhowever they took it
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