Masterpiece: Joshua Tree was a career defining album for U2
Across my collection of music, which stretches to a few hundred singles and albums, there is only one item by U2. But it is also a recording that I constantly return to. It is the most satisfyingly complete album of the past 40 years.
Joshua Tree was released in 1987, and I was drawn to it through familiarity of its radio-friendly hit songs, With or Without You, I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For, and Where The Streets Have No Name.
The record became part of my life that year and the next, when it was one of three cassettes I carried in my backpack as I set off for a one-year adventure in Australia (the other two cassettes were Suzanne Vega's Solitude Standing, and Robyn Hitchcock's Fegmania).
And so Joshua Tree burnt a place in my psyche as it was played in heavy rotation on my Sony Walkman.
Now, some 35 years on, it continues to be the post-1985 album I can most enjoyably listen to all the way through. Experiencing it through quality headphones allows the music to best work its lulling magic.
Of its 11 tracks the only one I'm ever tempted to skip is Bullet The Blue Sky, which is weaker than the ten shining gems around it.
This masterpiece album has a continuity of atmosphere, musical prowess and songwriting excellence that elevates it above almost anything else that has come and gone in the past four decades of popular music.
U2 deserve full praise for this career defining peak. There was also an important role for the late Kirsty MacColl, who although uncredited on the album, chose the running order that the songs appear in, sculpting the record's faultless flowing musical path.
Joshua Tree captures a moment in time, a mid/late 1980s mood undimmed by the passage of time.
There is only one U2 appearance in my collection, but through Joshua Tree it is a starring one.
Aussie walkabout: I was fortunate to be standing with well-wishers who presented flowers to the Queen in Perth, West Australia, in April 1988
As the news broke last evening that Queen Elizabeth II had died at 96, I tuned in to the television broadcasts, listening for a few hours to the tributes pouring in and watching the people gathering outside Buckingham Palace and Balmoral Castle.
Then I switched off the TV and went for a walk to clear my head. It was nearing 8pm when I headed out into a twilight world strangely silent and closed. I encountered no traffic nor another soul. In the darkening gloom, grey clouds blanketed the sky and hung like half-lowered veils over the hills. Following a forestry planation track I ventured through the showery nightfall.
Strolling alone with my thoughts, I reflected on what the Queen meant to me and to this country and its people, and to countless millions further afield.
In the firmament of life she created a unique connection for many, a connection that is impossible to adequately explain or describe. She was a steady rock in life - a presence beyond the orb of our own lives, yet also a part of ours. She symbolised a wise relative, albeit one beyond our normal reach. Yet whenever a national crisis occurred or celebration was sparked, she had a way to embody and express this and to reassure.
Until now, the Queen was a constant presence in my life. She had already reigned for 14 years by the time I was born. More than half-a-century has passed since.
I've known her through everyday objects, whether it be her portrait on coins and bank notes or on stamps. Even when living abroad in Australia and Bermuda this was much the same case.
And every year on Christmas Day hearing the Queen's message and knowing that something peaceful and steady would be shared with us all reinforced that special connection.
Magical unicorn: A light-hearted letter I wrote to the Daily News in Perth, West Australia ahead of the Queen's visit in April 1988
In this era of modern telecommunications she and her family have been welcomed into our homes, and we have been welcomed into hers, in ways and with a broadness experienced by no other monarch of these isles.
In our lives she have been a steadying presence through thick and thin, happy times and troubled.
I treasure a royal mint coin from the 1977 silver jubilee, one of which was given to each pupil at my junior school. That jubilee, and its memorable street parties, was the first recollection I have of the Queen.
Although we never met, I was twice a spectator in the crowds that greeted her - once in Perth, West Australia in 1988, and again in Bermuda in 2009.
She will be remembered as one of the most extraordinary figures in history, and as monarch who embodied the heart and spirit of this country and her people.
We've laughed and celebrated with her and her family, through the jubilees, weddings, and special events like the London Olympics. I'm especially fond of the playful clip of the Queen alongside Paddington Bear at this year's platinum jubilee.
And yes, there have been sad times - the death of Princess Diana, and of the Queen's cherished husband Prince Philip, and now her departure.
Last evening as I walked the forestry trail I reflected and processed what she meant to me.
Your Majesty, Queen Elizabeth ... Lilibet. Thank you for all you have added to life's journey. We shall never forget. Peace.
Below: the video of the Queen with Paddington Bear at this year's platinum jubilee celebration.
Barbara Bain, right, as Dr Helena Russell in Space:1999. Ms Bain was a celebrity guest at Autographica, in March 2014
As strange moments in life go it's one that is vivid and does not fade. And that is not by lucky coincidence.
For there are day-to-day memories, and then there are vivid snapshots - moments in time etched forever in your mind, ready to be replayed whenever you choose.
An example of this "vivid snapshot" technique was the morning I enjoyed breakfast in the company of some of my childhood heroes from the world of science fiction.
Walking into the breakfast room at the conference hotel I saw Kenny Baker, the actor who played R2-D2 in the Star Wars movie. He was seated at a table with actress Valerie Gale, who accompanied him.
He waved and called out "Bermuda" as Heather and I chose a table and sat down. We'd spoken to him the previous day at the reception gathering at the beginning of the March 2014 Autographica event, and that is how he had found out that I'd travelled from Bermuda.
A few moments after I'd entered the breakfast room, Space:1999 actress Barbara Bain also walked in. Like Mr Baker and Ms Gale, she was a celebrity guest for the weekend. She'd attended the reception drinks event held in the atrium at the top level of the Radisson Heathrow hotel on the outskirts of London. Others there included moonwalking Apollo astronauts Buzz Aldrin and Alan Bean.
Star Wars and Space:1999 were touchstone entertainment favourites of mine as I grew up in the 1970s. Now, to be sitting down for breakfast in the same room as two of the well-known names from those sci-fi adventures felt unique and almost unreal.
Shortly afterwards, in the main hotel lobby I encountered Dave Prowse, the man who played Darth Vader in the original Star Wars trilogy.
Barbara Bain answers audience questions during the Autograhica weekend, 2014
The conference was filled with other encounters and moments, including opportunities to speak briefly with Ms Bain, Mr Aldrin, Mr Baker, Mr Prowse and others. I wrote about the event in a contemporaneous blog post eight years ago.
That moment at breakfast has remained vivid in my mind, more so than if I'd taken a photograph, and far more than the most other recollections.
The reason for such clarity is a technique I deliberately used. It is akin to taking a detailed, mental snapshot. For I was acutely aware how impossible that moment would have seemed to my 11-year-old self; not only seeing a hero from Star Wars and a heroine from Space:1999, but simultaneously in the same hotel dining room for breakfast.
When extraordinary special moments come along in life, use this technique. Recognise those moments for what they are - gifts in life - and intimately preserve the sights, sounds and feelings by consciously taking in as much as you can to create a snapshot memory.
A vanishing world: Katharine Stewart's celebrated A Croft in the Hills is contained in A Life in the Hills, an omnibus edition featuring four of her books
In A Croft in the Hills, Katharine Stewart chronicles the years that she, her husband Jim and their daughter Helen lived high in the hills bordering Loch Ness.
The memoir begins with an account of what led to the family waving goodbye to suburban life and embarking on a shared vision and passion to eke out a living in a remote place. It is the story of how they pursued that desire for a self-sustaining livelihood "on the edge".
The Stewarts chose a location that was susceptible to fearsomely harsh weather and to soaring wonderment and beauty. It is the 1950s, and the young couple and their daughter learn the ways of the land and how to run a smallholding. It involves sacrifices, impoverishment and the unconditional support of neighbours.
At times, everything seems perfect with good fortune shining and life going their way, but there are also setbacks, adjustments and reassessments of what is possible.
First published in 1960, an additional end piece to the book was added by the author in a 1979 update.
Stewart captures a world and way of life that, even as she and her family embarked upon it, was coming to an end. Some of the characters mentioned were already local legends, and many were soon to be gone.
In joining the Stewarts, the reader experiences the turning of the seasons and glimpses a life built on a small, tight-knit community familiar with sparse and enduring hardships, but ready and willing to help one another without quibble or question.
I found this book's greatest joy in the moments where the author shares more deeply her thoughts on what it means to have taken this direction in life, and the fulfillment from simple pleasures far from the city lights.
A Croft in the Hills is regarded as an important record of a time, now 70 years distant, and the indomitable spirit of the Stewarts and those they knew on the hillsides high in the Highlands of Scotland.
I read the book in A Life in the Hills, The Katharine Stewart omnibus published posthumously in 2018, which also contains Stewart's books from the 1990s, A Garden in the Hills, A School in the Hills, and A Post in the Hills.
The combined edition, A Life in the Hills, is published by Berlinn Ltd.
Peaceful spot: the memorial bench for Geoffrey Burns, at Cooper's Island in Bermuda
Each bench tells a story. On them are the names of people now departed, who have been honoured with words of remembrance by those who knew them.
In weekly wanderings around these quite nature reserves and parks I've grown familiar with the benches and the names. On each there are usually a few more words that conjure a thought and a moment of reflection.
Curiosity led me to find out a little about who these people were. It creates a small connection and an appreciation for their lives and how fondly they are remembered in these peaceful surroundings.
On the far eastern edge of Bermuda, in the nature reserve known as Cooper's Island, there are three personalised benches.
One is at an area known as "Geoff's Point". It is a tucked away spot of solitude, where the soothing sound of waves washing upon the long sandy beach can be heard. Nature envelops this bench, and two non-personalised benches nearby.
The bench is in memory of Geoffrey Martin Burns. It has his dates, 1990 - 2010, and the message: "To live in the hearts we leave behind is not to die." Geoff was a student and a lifeguard. His friends, including fellow beach lifeguards, on hearing of his passing gathered that day in 2010 to place tributes to the popular young man who had been about to resume his overseas studies.
Ocean outlook: the bench for Adam Godwin features a quote by Bob Marley
The other two benches in the Cooper's Island reserve that feature names are less than a mile away. One remembers Brenda Mattingly, and the other Adam Goodwin.Adam died at 22, in 2010. He had a love for the ocean and was a key figure on the Spirit of Bermuda sloop, a training ship that introduced young students to the art of sailing and the adventure of travel.
On his bench is a quote attributed to singer Bob Marley. It reads: "Live for yourself and you will live in vain; live for others and you will live again."
Nearby is Brenda's seat, which a small brass plaque declares is also known as Gigi's Bench. It carries her dates 1954-2016. Brenda was a teacher, and head of geography at the Bermuda High School for Girls. The seat overlooks a peaceful inlet and faces back towards Bermuda and the north shore where the Ferry Reach national park can be found.
In loving memory: the bench for Brenda Mattingly is also known as Gigi's bench
Like Cooper's Island, Ferry Reach is another large expanse of tranquility and peace. It is a tract of undeveloped land where nature flourishes mostly unimpeded. A bench at the western end of the park is inscribed in memory of Donna De Silva. It features her dates, 1962 - 2012, along with a quote that has been attributed to actress Judy Garland. It reads: "The greatest treasures are those invisible to the eye, but found by the heart."I do not know much about Donna, but I appreciate the thought-provoking words on her bench, which looks out from atop a 200-year-old fort at Ferry Point Island.
All these benches are well positioned and serving as quiet spots for reflection on the world, and perhaps a moment to imagine the people who meant so much to their loved ones, who in turn placed a bench in their memory for the benefit of all.
Piece of history: One Mile Jetty at Carnarvon, Western Australia, as it was in June 1988. I dubbed it the "Stand by Me" bridge.
In a remote corner of the Australian outback it had stood for 124 years, until a few weeks ago when a cyclone thundered through and ripped it apart.
One Mile Jetty, at Carnarvon in Western Australia, was close to a mile long and was built to allow the transfer of goods, such as livestock and wool, from the mainland to ships anchored in deeper water at the far end.
It had long become obsolete and suffered periods of dereliction and abandonment - including the time when I paid my one visit, in the late 1980s.
However, the jetty underwent a renaissance starting in 1998 as a local organisation helped to restore and re-open it to the public as an attraction. It wasn't all plain sailing as a fire damaged part of the jetty in 2007 and, ten years later, the structure was deemed unsafe and was closed once more.
The devastation left in the wake of Cyclone Seroja this month may have ended the jetty's days for good. It is estimated many millions of dollars would be needed to repair the structure. It has been suggested that a short portion of the jetty could be salvaged and reopened.
It was in June 1988 when I visited Carnarvon. I was hitchhiking from Perth to the north-western corner of the state, through the remote Pilbara and Gascoyne regions, and ended up at the jetty as I scouted for an out of the way spot to pitch my tent for the night.
I dubbed the jetty "Stand by Me" bridge, after the famous railway bridge scene in the 1986 film. It was in a state of abandonment at that time and was closed off as being unsafe. Nevertheless, I explored it. That day I later met a fellow backpacking traveller from the UK. His name was Yorath, and he was from Wales. He'd decided to visit the remote Australian town as it bore the same name as a major Welsh town.
We two travelling strangers struck up a friendship and shared stories at the wild camping site in the scrubland off to the side of the jetty, away from the township. We shared an evening meal of tined potatoes and beans, and tea. Yorath had to leave at some ungodly hour during the night to catch the coach that was heading back to Perth. When I got up the next morning there was only the empty cans to remind me of the meal and conversation the evening before.
I packed up my tent and walked back along "Stand by Me" bridge to continue my trek.
That was 33 years ago, but the jetty has stayed in my memory. It was an unusual landmark on my journey, and also brought a fleeting moment of friendship with another outback traveller who, like me, had decided that a far-flung adventure while still young was the way to go.
When I heard of the destruction of the jetty I was saddened. But I hope some of the jetty remains and can be made safe for visitors to walk along again. I for one would like to reacquaint with it.
Once a place of imagination: Southside Cinema has been closed for more than seven years, and appears unlikely to ever reopen
It stands empty and forlorn, ravaged by climate and weather. There has been no audience for more than seven years, and in all likelihood the final curtain has fallen at the derelict Southside Cinema in Bermuda.
For many decades cinemas have been reducing in numbers, the result of changing tastes. That trend is evident at Southside Cinema.
When it was open, I occasionally went along to watch a movie or two. Films I saw included Pride and Prejudice, She's the Man and Superman Returns. It was convenient and out of the way at the eastern end of the island, far less visited than the two main cinemas in the city of Hamilton.
Located in the former US baselands, the cinema was constructed by the Americans for personnel stationed at what was once the Kindley Air Force Base, on St David's Island, from 1948 to 1970, and which became the US Naval Air Station Bermuda from 1970 to 1995.
The cinema was operated by the Army and Air Force Motion Picture Service, and was reputed to have access to the latest movies weeks in advance of the civilian cinemas elsewhere in Bermuda.
Once the US military departed Bermuda in 1995, the theatre became a local enterprise.
With a 425-seating capacity it was the largest cinema on the island, which was another reason why I favoured it. It was rarely busy. However, I do remember in April 2006, during the Bermuda International Film Festival, when it was famously packed to the max, with a queue outside that included the island's Premier at the time, Alex Scott. Kudos to Mr Scott for not pushing in (he was behind me in the queue). However, he did not stay for the second feature that day, Neil Young's Prairie Wind concert film.
That spike in popularity was an anomaly. Most of the time the cinema barely attracted a few dozen customers. It was dated, and the once impressive interior was fading with age. The main auditorium lights were always dimmed, perhaps to disguise the dilapidation. Admission was cash-only - no debit or credit cards.
In 2009, there was a double shooting outside the cinema shortly after a late movie showing.
The cinema closed in 2013. There was talk of it being reopened, but it has remained shuttered.
Now it stands empty, its exterior showing increasing damage from the elements. Who knows how much longer the building will be there? Its days appear numbered.
Southside Cinema served its purpose and brought many hours of joy to countless audiences for more than 50 years, and I can attest to its success in immersing audiences in entertaining "other worlds" - if only for an hour or two at a time.
As Southside Cinema slips away without fanfare, the happy memories of the movies it once showed live on.
