A curiously subdued Star Wars trailer

What lies ahead? an intriguing glimpse of Death Star wreckage in the trailer for The Rise of Skywalker

The first trailer for Star Wars 9, now revealed as The Rise of Skywalker, has a restrained feel. It is as though the director, JJ Abrams, is reluctant to show or giveaway anything about the plot ahead of its December release.

In a counterintuitive way that could be for the best, given the strongly divided reaction the previous installment of the saga generated (I gave Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi a reluctant 50% score). A bolder strategy would be a total pre-release blackout, letting the film take audiences by surprise and succeeding or failing through "old school" word-of-mouth recommendations.

However, such a slow burn approach, given the hundreds of millions of dollars spent on the production, is unlikely to fly with Disney executives.

Abrams has a tough task to pull the sequel trilogy back from the brink after the storytelling dumpster fire that was The Last Jedi. He appeared to diplomatically acknowledge this last week at the Star Wars Celebration event in Chicago, telling an interviewer: "We've taken to heart everything that has come before, and while it's obviously been significantly challenging, it's been a greater opportunity than a challenge."

Mystery with menace: Kylo Ren, played by Adam Driver,
is the most interesting new character in the sequel trilogy

There is no compelling narrative to carry the story on from The Last Jedi, and it features a cast of new characters that - two films into the trilogy - have yet to establish anywhere near the commanding presence achieved by the protagonists of the original films. As for the bad guys, they have been left to look ridiculously ineffective, save for the one beacon of possibility - Kylo Ren.

It may be that Abrams has found a way to retrofit a story into the void left by The Last Jedi - or to somehow create a bridge from his own Episode VII: A Force Awakens to this concluding part of the Skywalker saga. As I have previously noted, the core problem with this trilogy stems from the ad-hoc way it has taken shape, in a "pass the parcel" fashion with the story handed over from one writer/director to another, leaving each to mould their own tale "on the hoof" rather than revolving around a pre-planned story arc.

George Lucas, who created the Star Wars universe, was shunted out of the way when Disney purchased Lucasfilm in 2012. He had drafted his own vision of how the sequel trilogy might play out, but this was discarded by the decision-makers who took charge of the current trilogy.

Interestingly, in light of the polarising effect The Last Jedi has had on the franchise's fan base, Lucas was consulted before work began on The Rise of Skywalker; as was revealed by Abrams during last week's interview.

As for the new trailer, the most interesting moment is the scene showing what appears to be wreckage of a Death Star - and my guess it it is the second Death Star, which was destroyed in 1983's Return of The Jedi. There is a belief among some that lead protagonist Rey, played by Daisy Ridley, will swim to the wreckage and uncover a crucial part of the story. The trailer features the menacing laughter of Emporer Palpatine, hitherto believed vanquished at the hands of Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader, and adds a tantalising possibility to where this final segment of the Skywalker saga might go.

One thing is for sure, for many fans only an appearance by Luke Skywalker will erase the bitter taste of The Last Jedi. Abrams' skillful insertion of Skywalker at the conclusion of The Force Awakens, created one of the series' greatest emotional jolts. Can he do it again?

The jury is out on whether the sequel trilogy can be salvaged. The Rise of Skywalker trailer gives no indication as to what the answer will be.

Video: The Rise of Skywalker official trailer:

Tea towel immortality at a village hall far away

Down to earth: Dougie MacLean, on stage at
Clunie village hall (Photographs by Heather Brain)

You know you're doing well when they put one of your songs on a tea towel, Dougie MacLean told the audience. We and the other 80 or so souls who sat on the wooden foldaway chairs in the tiny village hall, had travelled through unlit countryside and foothills to reach the remote venue on a single-track road in deepest Perthshire.

Our reward was an evening of music and tales from MacLean, who happily mingled with the audience during the half-time interval when tea, coffee, biscuits and bowls of crisps were laid on for free. During the break, MacLean also shared "nips" from a large bottle of The Gael gin - named after another of his tunes - which included the musical notation of the composition on the inside of the label, where it was magnified through the bottle's glass and its rapidly diminishing contents.

Clunie village hall is more often used for "knit and natter" evenings than staging concerts - but there was a good reason why MacLean, who was awarded the OBE in 2011 for services to music and charity, had chosen such an out-of-the-way location to sing his songs.

Earlier we had waited outside for the doors to open. It had been a day of clear blue sky, but as the long dusk settled so the temperature slid to the chill expected in March among foothills leading to the southern fringe of Scotland's Cairngorms mountain range. The thinest reminder of day clung precariously above us, a deepening blue turning to night; while the countryside silhouetted against the remnants of dusky light was all but swallowed by darkness.

Family assist: the stage decorations were
prepared by MacLean's grandchildren

Scattered on one horizon were distant lights of a few homes and farms. The final calls of birds settling in their nests echoed in the still air. The arrival of darkness in this remote spot leaves an outsider slightly disorientated, but not so for a local. MacLean's life and the lives of his parents and grandparents are deeply entwined with this place and the surrounding landscape.

As we were to learn from anecdotes shared between songs, as a boy MacLean had lived in a small house next to the village hall, and it had featured in his youth. He now owns and lives in a former village school a few miles away, where he has his own recording studio. Earlier generations of his family had had been taught at the school.

The landscape that stretches out from the village hall resonates with stories and meaning for MacLean and his family, who have maintained strong ties to the locale. Indeed, members of MacLean's family, including his wife, son and grandchildren, all pitched in to prepare the stage for the evening show, operate the mixing desk, serve the refreshments and look after the small merchandise stall at the door. His mother, now in her eighties, was among the audience.

It was at the entrance to the hall, next to a selection of CDs and DVDs, where a few tea towels emblazened with the lyrics to Caledonia were to be found. Caledonia is a spirited and beautifully uplifting ode that some have suggested is a future national anthem. It wrestles with The Gael as MacLean's most successful composition. The latter is an instrumental, a version of which took off a few years after MacLean's original, when it was prominently featured in the movie soundtrack of The Last of the Mohicans.

Evening to remember: MacLean
met all the audience during the interval

During the first half of the evening, MacLean presented us with a trove of stories and songs from places near and far; from Clunie village hall to Alaska and Australia. His instruments included a didgeridoo, and fiddle, but mostly acoustic guitar. The Gael was played on fiddle, augmented by an instrumental backing track created by MacLean's son. After the refreshment break, MacLean scanned through the request notes he'd encouraged and played, among others, the haunting Broken Wings, and the moving This Love Will Carry.

MacLean has travelled the world and performed on stages large and small, but he has retained a down to earth approach. To see him on a tiny stage in an intimate and personal setting, and share a moment of his time at the interval break as he made a point of meeting every member of the audience, made it an evening to treasure.

Before we knew it, almost three hours had passed and it was time to leave. After we ventured from the village hall into the night, the songs and voice of MacLean, and the love he showed to all, carried us safely home.

Video: Dougie MacLean sings Caledonia at his studio.

Song discovery that was 'outta time'

Coincidental surprise: a scene from the video of Oasis' I'm Outta Time

It was something I wasn't expecting - an Oasis song and video from 11 years ago that I'd never encountered.

And the surprise had a layer of coincidence as the song's title, I'm Outta Time, is remarkably close to the title of my novel in progress, Alice Out Of Time.

The song is an outlier for Oasis,  if anything in their catalogue can be described as such. It was the band's penultimate single, and only their debut release peaked at a lower position in the UK charts. It is also one of only two Oasis hits penned by Liam Gallagher, rather than his brother Noel. Liam features in the video, alone.

It is a touching, almost heartbreaking ballad, that in hindsight foreshadows the final days of the band. A year after its release in 2008, Oasis were no more.

When I say I had not previously encountered the song or video, there is a caveat. It is true I'd never seen the video before, but it turns out I must have heard the song at least once. That was at Madison Square Gardens, in December 2008, at what was the seventh and last occasion I saw Oasis in concert.

I'd followed the band's career since their first success in 1994, going to concerts - including the Maine Road and Knebworth extravaganzas of 1996. When I left the UK in 2005, I owned five of their six studio albums. It was at this point I lost touch with their new music. I was no longer plugged in to mainstream TV and radio, and remained mostly unaware of the new songs that made up what was to be their final album, Dig Out Your Soul.

However, when they toured to promote that album in late 2008, I headed out on a cold, wintery evening in New York to hear again the great songs I knew from their back catalogue.

Work in progress: the Alice novel is now at the 'white cover working edition' stage

Last weekend, on discovering the video of I'm Outta Time, and wondering how such a gem had escaped my notice for 11 years, I did an online check of the setlist for that night in New York and discovered the song had been played, sandwiched between two of Oasis' bigger hits, The Importance of Being Idle, and Wonderwall.

It had been placed in the final quarter of the set, surrounded by the searing anthems that defined Oasis' success. As such, it had been lost to me on first hearing. But now, in isolation, the beauty of its understated nature was striking, as was the dreamy imagery of the video, with nature to the fore, including a signature motif from  Alice Out Of Time. As I continue work on the novel, which is at the "printed white cover edition" stage, I feel the song makes a fitting accompaniment.

Also, listen carefully and you will spot a sprinkling of micro-musical homages to The Beatles and John Lennon. There is a final surprise at the end. The video concludes with a record playing on a turntable, and the voice of Lennon. Asked if he missed England, having lived in New York for almost a decade, Lennon says: "As Churchill said, it's an Englishman's inalienable right to live where the hell he likes ... I said, what do you think, it's going to vanish? It's not going to be there when I get back?"
It is a poignant recording; two days later Lennon was shot outside his Manhattan apartment.

• The official video to Oasis' I'm Outta Time:

Street man with a gentle soul

A copy of that day's newspaper was neatly folded on the steps of a disused office building in the city. To some it may have looked odd, but to those who knew Sonny it was a symbolic, touching tribute to the gentle soul who lived on the streets and had made those steps his home. Next to the paper were some flowers and messages to Sonny, who had died.

Just over a week earlier I'd been to a press conference held by the Premier of the country, and as I hurried back to the office I was greeted by the homeless man sitting on the steps. It was Sonny - who I'd first met almost 14 years earlier. I briefly stopped to chat, but as the rain began I told him I had to get going to write a story. That was the last time I saw Sonny.

I first met him in late 2005 or early 2006 on a different street, Par-La-Ville Road, not far from the newspaper office where I work. To begin with he was always in the same spot - seemingly content to have a small world that consisted of an area of bushes where he had his sleeping camp, and an upturned milk crate on the sidewalk where he would sit opposite the gas station. Occasionally he would take his crate and sit on the other side of the road, or he'd sit on the concrete bench that was there.

He had a pronounced lopsided walk, a shuffle that was distinctive even from a distance. His hair was long, dreadlocked and matted. When we first met I gave him a donation to buy a coffee or a sandwich. This would become a pattern as the months passed. We'd greet each other by name. He'd ask how I was doing as I came along the street and we'd strike up short conversations. Sonny was always pleasant and genuine, and as time went by it became less and less about helping him out - eventually he declined any such offerings and simply enjoyed being acknowledged and having a moment or two of conversation.

Sonny was always to be seen with a beat up copy of our newspaper. I guess he would pick up a discarded copy from wherever and read it from cover to cover - every day. If he wasn't reading the paper he would have an old paperback book - invariable missing its cover - lying among his small bundle of possessions.
He loved to read, and I was told by others who had known him most of their lives that he was very intelligent and had at one point worked for British Airways. What is the true story of Sonny's life I can't say for sure, although there are glimpses in a tribute published shortly after he died (link here).

Our occasional chats only ever lasted for a minute or two and were nearly always about how we were doing that day, how busy things were for me at the newspaper and, I recall, one occasion when he asked me why the newspaper was always repeating things. I wasn't sure what he meant at first, but soon deduced he was referring to the increasingly common practice of chunks of stories being 'rehashed' when a new piece of information appeared. This is usually done to give context and to benefit any reader who may not have seen the previous stories, but if it is lazily done I can imagine it would frustrate a regular reader. Sonny noticed things like this. It didn't frustrate him - I don't know if anything ever did - but it certainly made him inquisitive as to why it was.

In time, the authorities decided to thin out and landscape the area of bushes where Sonny had his hidden home. Sonny stayed in the area during the day, but now slept further down the street where he had laid claim to the doorstep of a disused former bank. That was his new home for some length of time, and even if I walked past and didn't see him I knew it was Sonny's spot from the small pile of blankets, books and copies of newspapers among the stashed belongings.

As the years passed Sonny continued to move around the city, finding new spots to call home. I would see him less frequently, partly because he was elsewhere and partly because my work hours had altered and I was more office-bound. I do remember seeing him on Front Street for a while, and then on the steps of the Anglican cathedral from where he would often call out my name as I walked on the opposite side of the road. I'd wave and call back, or cross the street and ask how he was doing.

Sonny, whose actual name was Reginald "Sonny" Furbert, always seemed at peace with his nomadic lifestyle. He never troubled or pestered anyone. He appeared to have all he needed to get by day-to-day and was happy simply to be acknowledged in some way and have a brief bit of interaction - a minute or two of chat.

Tribute: flowers (some in a coffee cup), and a copy of the day's newspaper
on the steps of the building where Sonny made his last street home

It was further along the street from the cathedral that Sonny set up what was to be his final street home. It was the front steps of a disused office building, and he laid claim to it, sitting under the protection of an overhanging porch that kept him dry if it rained. It was there that we exchanged greetings one day last month as I hurried back to the office having attended the Premier's press conference. Sonny wanted to know what I was doing. I told him I was on my way back to write a story before the rain started (it was already coming down lightly). It was an all too brief exchange, and one I would have made longer had I known it was to be our last.

Sonny often told me he kept an eye out for my name on stories in the paper. I'd like to think that the next day he would have been sitting on the steps looking through the paper to find out what story it was I had been hurrying back to the office to write.

A little over a week later I heard the news that Sonny, 70, had died; the newspaper's initial story was only two or three paragraphs long, but it was the most read news item on our website that day. Two days later I walked past the steps of the disused building, opposite the main post office, and saw the flowers and tributes that had been left - including a neatly folded copy of that day's newspaper.

Sonny was a gentle soul and someone you'd never forget if you took the time to befriend him. Farewell Sonny, until we meet again.

Away with the faeries at Lochan Uaine

Mystical place: An Lochan Uaine has an unusually green appearance
 that some say is caused by faeries washing their clothes in its water.

Thirty-three years after first stumbling across a book that mentioned a mysterious faery loch in a remote part of Scotland, I finally had the chance to visit it this year.

It is almost impossible to locate 'An Lochan Uaine' on a map, because it is so small and inconsequential relative to the mountainous splendor of its surroundings.

Tucked away in the vast wilderness of the Cairngorms, it is about seven miles due east of Aviemore -  but don't think about driving there, because you can't.  To reach it you must leave the road behind and take to quiet trails that lead into the mountains and an area known as Ryvoan Pass.

I'd read about An Lochan Uaine. I'd written a poem about it, which had became a song, a play and a short movie. Yet I'd never been to this place that had sparked my imagination in so many ways for more than three decades. Now, as I stood at the edge of the lochan, it felt like the closure of a personal journey that I'd carried since my teenage years.

The story began in 1985 as I read what was then a 30-year-old book about remote locations in Scotland. Each place described was accompanied by a single, page-sized black-and-white photograph. There were no people on the images, just the raw beauty of unspoiled wilderness.

On one page there was a photograph of An Lochan Uaine - a small body of water in the mountains. I recall the monochrome picture had a wintery feel. The words that accompanied it described the green water of the lochan and mentioned a folk tale that claimed faeries washed their clothes there and, as they did so, the dye would run and give the water its green tinge.

I wrote a poem in 1985 based on the tale. Faeries of Green Lochan was included in the 1987 paperback Inspired, a collection of young writers' stories and poems. I turned it into a song to perform at open mic events. In 2003, in a two-person play, I expanded on the theme of the mystical faeries and the lochan, and performed one of the roles at an amateur dramatics show at Bournemouth Centre for Community Arts. The screenplay was included in Eating Clouds in 2008. That led to the animation and live-action short film Faeries of Green Lochan of 2011. I had ambitions of filming it on location, but practicalities meant the live-action scene was filmed at a lake in Dorset, England.

This autumn I finally made it to the Cairngorms and sought out the lochan and its mystical green water. Heather, who was also the 'Woman in the Cloak' in the film version of Faeries of Green Lochan, and I set out on the tricky hillside trail that led to the lochan. The views were breathtaking as we followed a narrow path through fir trees and pines that hugged the steep edge of Ryvoan Pass. There was a magical feel to the place, and I was struck by the number of fly agaric mushrooms visible in the undergrowth. These distinctive bright red with white spot mushrooms had featured in animation sequences of the Faeries film, although at the time I had not known whether they were to be found near the lochan. They were - and in abundance.

Water's edge: with Heather beside An Lochan Uaine.

And then we were there at the edge of the lochan and its green water. A connection that spanned 33 years had been fulfilled. In the remote surroundings of the Cairngorms I wondered if this peaceful place guarded a precious secret. Were they out there - the faeries, hiding in the undergrowth and waiting until all folks had departed before coming to dance and sing at the water's edge and scrub their clothes clean?
Who can say? All I know is the place has a magical feel, and that is enough.

• The short movie Faeries of Green Lochan:

Farewell longtails, come back soon

Harbinger of warmer days: a white-tailed tropicbird, commonly known
 as a longtail, wheels through the summer sky in Bermuda

All the longtails have gone, and I miss the sound they made as they called out while chasing and frolicking in the blue skies of summer.

Each year their arrival is greatly anticipated. Many eyes turn to the sea and sky in search of the first arrival, that harbinger of spring.

One here, one there, then suddenly their numbers multiply. No longer a solitary flicker of white against the blue, they come in pairs and groups along the coastline to make their home on craggy islets and in holes among the cliffs that seem impossible to access.

On days of brilliant sunshine the ocean reflects against their underside, painting them an ethereal turquoise.

Young birds emerging from nests grew stronger each day, flying farther and with greater ease and gracefulness as they explored and tested themselves. They soared in celebration of summer days that seemed would last for ever.

Eventually the hints of milder autumn days were more noticeable, and the quiet exodus began. Longtails headed out to sea and many did not return. Away they went, heeding the subtle seasonal signal. It was time to head for the islands a thousand miles south, where winter heat can be found.

Soon only a few remained, the youngest of the brood, still mastering their wings and knowing they must leave for that epic first journey to lands they have yet to see.

Now the sky is empty, a blue void that once was alive with their joyous sounds and playful cavorting. But they will return, and with them the promise of spring and another near-endless summer.

Video adds fresh spring to Harrison classic

Celebration of life: forty-four years after the song was recorded,
and 13 years after he died, an official video was made to accompany
George Harrison's What is Life. It captures the song's joy and freshness

When I came across the official video for George Harrison's What is Life, I was surprised and delighted; surprised because the 48-year-old track was never released as a single in the UK, therefore the existence of a video seemed unlikely, and delighted by the joy and freshness it exuded.

Harrison died in 2001. However, the video was made just four years ago. I'm sure it would have met with his approval. Before explaining how the video came to be made, here is some background on the jaunty track.

It was recorded around the time The Beatles broke up, and featured as the B-side of Harrison's first solo single My Sweet Lord, released in 1970 in the UK. It subsequently became a hit in its own right in many other countries in 1971 and went top ten in the US, making Harrison the first Beatle to achieve two top ten solo hits on the Billboard chart. It is a breezy, upbeat song about love and life that fits closely with the era of The Beatles and is dominated by a catchy chorus and masterful guitar-playing from Harrison and guest Eric Clapton.

While Harrison's version was never released as an A-side in the UK, a cover version by Olivia Newton-John made it into the UK top 20 in 1972.

So how did this video to accompany Harrison's song come to be made? In 2014, a retrospective of his solo music from his time with Apple Records was released. At the same time a competition was held for filmmakers to produce a promotional video to go with What is Life. Harrison's widow Olivia Harrison and son Dhani Harrison judged the entries and picked this video, directed by Brandon Moore, as the winner of the $5,000 first prize.

It was filmed in a neighbourhood of San Francisco. The carefree, youthful energy of the song is finely captured by two young ballet performers, Emma Rubinowitz and Esteban Hernandez. The dancing is not point-perfect, but that's why it feels so real and true to life as it celebrates free expression, imperfections-and-all, guided by joy. The transience of life and a tinge of otherworldliness are evoked as Rubinowitz twirls and bounds her way through rows upon rows of markers in the San Francisco National Cemetery as the lyrics ponder "what is my life?"

This visual imaging of a song that is almost half-a-century old adds to the appreciation of how well What is Life has stood the test of time. As to the question, what is life? Well, I can't say for sure, but if it's anything like the feeling of joy, verve and boundless possibilities that emanate from this video, I'll take it.