Several years ago, my son returned from the Philippines alive. Not necessarily a given for a trade unionist in that beautiful country. So I felt obliged to accept his Christmas present of a year’s subscription to Guardian Weekly. I’ve been paying for it ever since.
I’ve lived, worked and raised a family here in Te Papaioea, New Zealand, for more than 40 years. For all that time, I bicycled over the road, over the bridge, over the river every working day.
I particularly enjoy the charming writings and engravings of Nature watch. Both Paul Evans and Mark Cocker follow the style, or the tradition, established perhaps by the incomparable Robert Gibbings. Nothing like this here, though the works of Mervyn Taylor match engravings anywhere, anytime.
My only wish would be for an occasional retreat from the largely rural and romantic view of nature to include the urban and dystopic sides. When I go into my backyard and turn over a chunk of concrete the worms, slaters, Collembola and spiders swarm; there are stories to be told here, too.
I regret that I am no longer the wild-eyed, energetic man of my self-portrait (pictured) of a few years ago. Like many other grey-headed Guardian Weekly readers, this seems to be the pattern nowadays: concerned and informed but lacking the passion, anger and action of the past self.
If you would like to appear in this space, send a brief note to guardian.weekly@theguardian.com
