Holiday in Son Baulo

We set off for the north coast of Mallorca looking forward to sunshine and blue skies; we encountered torrential rain and dire warnings from the Spanish Government about being outdoors. But that didn’t matter to us, as T had gone down with a bad dose the day before we left and I caught it from her. We huddled in our apartment with thunder, lightning and tropical downpours for company. T was coughing so badly that I called the doctor. He diagnosed bronchitis and prescribed an inhaler and antibiotics. I began to improve fairly quickly and could tend to T, who was slower to recover.

Thankfully, after a very stormy week, the good weather returned. T took it easy, painting and reading by the pool. I cycled inland to explore the old hilltop towns that populate the interior of Mallorca – each with narrow winding streets, a tree-lined central square with a church on one corner and a bar on the other and a traditional market one day a week.

By the end of our stay, T had done plenty of local walks and I had managed to complete two of the classic Mallorcan cycling routes. The first to the Santuari de Lluc, situated high in the mountains, via a switchback climb through a pine forest with wild goats to the Coll de sa Batalla at 1870 feet. The second, along the very hilly promontory to the lighthouse at the Cap de Formentor, with steep climbs and magnificent costal views. So the holiday that started so badly, had turned out fine, just like the weather. We’re already looking forward to going back next year.

'True' on National Poetry Day

My first collection of poetry was launched in a snowstorm. The second was during the Covid lockdown. And the tail-end of a hurricane blew in last night for the launch of my new collection, ‘True’.

But the poetry lovers of Northern Ireland are a hardy bunch and we had a full house for the National Poetry Day reading. There were representatives from the City Chapter and the John Hewitt Society; also in attendance was the Dean of Armagh, the Keeper of the Robinson Library, who lives upstairs. So a heartfelt 'thank you' to everyone who braved the wind and rain to support live poetry.

The library, founded in 1771, is a truly magnificent space. The walls are lined with ancient books and mahogany display cases hold particular treasures, such as Jonathan Swift’s own copy of ‘Gulliver’s Travels’. The room is adorned with the busts of benefactors and has marvellous acoustics – it’s a lovely place for a reading and feels very intimate. Wendy Sinnamon read her intriguing poems and I followed with a selection of mine from ‘True’. The audience were most appreciative and congratulated us on our performances. There was plenty of chat afterwards and book sales were brisk.  

I still have some launch copies of ‘True’ available at the special price of £10 – that’s 20% off the normal RRP.

 If anyone would like a copy, please email me – poetrypaul@gmail.com

 I’d be delighted to sign the book for you. 

National Poetry Day

I’m really looking forward to the launch of ‘True’, my new book of poetry, on National Poetry Day – October 2nd – in Armagh.

National Poetry Day was founded in 1994 to show that poetry has a place in everyone’s life. Poetry brings people together, and that’s so important as our lives have become more fragmented.

The reading takes place in the magnificent Robinson Library and is hosted by the City Chapter, in association with the John Hewitt Society. The library was founded in 1771 and has many treasures, including Jonathan Swift’s own copy of ‘Gulliver’s Travels’.

I’m very much hoping that you will be able to join me and Wendy on Thursday at 7.30pm.

Book Launch

My third collection of poetry, ‘True’, has just been published by Black Spring Press, and I’m delighted to invite you to the launch on October 2nd – National Poetry Day.

‘True’ will be launched at Armagh’s magnificent Robinson Library, founded in 1771. The reading is hosted by the City Chapter and will also feature emerging poet Wendy Sinnamon. The start time is 7.30pm and entry is free.

The poems in ‘True’ were inspired by true stories from real lives. The sources were news reports, exhibitions, diaries, brochures, sagas, public notices, journals, broadcasts, obituaries and word of mouth. They are not ‘found poems’ – instead, each real-life story provided the launch pad for new work. Ciaran Carson called them ‘discovered poems’. ‘True’ brings together my discovered poems, twelve of which have won awards. The book is dedicated to the late Ciaran Carson, founding Director of the Seamus Heaney Centre in Belfast.

I look forward to seeing you in Armagh on National Poetry Day, where ‘True’ will be on sale at a special launch price. I will be delighted to sign the book for you.

You can also buy a copy of ‘True’ directly from the publisher. https://blackspringpressgroup.com/products/true

Paul Jeffcutt’s poetry has always been tempted by the coincidental and the accidental, finding strange wonders in juxtaposition and enigma. With ‘True’, this risk-taking reaches a new stage of fluency, insight and daring. A joy to read.  ―Damian Smyth.

Paul Jeffcutt’s latest collection of poetry proves that his mentor, Ciaran Carson, was bang on – poems are out there waiting to be discovered and recovered from the true stories of real lives. ―Rachael Hegarty.

An Encounter with Ian Rankin

Having arrived rather early for an event featuring Ian Rankin, I was checking out the bookstall when a tall man in a dark suit came and stood beside me. Is that him, I wondered? Surreptitiously, I opened his latest Rebus novel – the author photo confirmed my suspicions. “Hello, Ian,” I said. He smiled and we began to chat. I said that many years ago I’d sent him, via his publisher, a poem I’d written following his appearance on Desert Island Discs in 2006. He had replied, some months later, thanking me and saying it was the first time he’d had a poem dedicated to him.

“That was Sue Lawley’s last Desert Island Discs,” Ian said, rolling his eyes. I nodded, “She was rather tetchy.” Sue, the haughty presenter, had challenged Ian about his gritty depictions of crime, almost implying that he had a disturbed imagination. Ian had responded with his, now famous, riposte – “Most crime writers are actually well-balanced individuals. We get all the dark stuff out on the page. It’s the romance writers you’ve got to watch out for.”

I told Ian that these very words had stimulated my poem ‘Dear Reader, I Murdered Him’ (see below). It was one of the first poems I’d written which was directly inspired by a real-life story. I’d carried on writing poems of this type and they had just been brought together in a book called ‘True’. Taking out an advance copy of my new collection, I showed him the poem. He was nodding as he read it. I then wrote a dedication thanking Ian and signed the book for him. He smiled and shook my hand. Gathering up a copy of his new book, ‘Midnight and Blue’, Ian signed it for me. The dedication reads, ‘From one writer to another’.

Dear Reader, I Murdered Him.

                                    for Ian Rankin

Heaving bosoms…

a child abused,

the tall, dark stranger…

a fugitive from justice,

every breathless encounter... 

a padded cell

in the maximum security wing.

 

Romantic novelists,

stranglers

and machete artistes,

compose birthday-card ditties

to get phone time and snout.

No remission

for repeat offenders.

The New Greenway

I’ve been out on my bike a lot during the past couple of weeks of good weather, happily this coincided with the opening of the full greenway between Newry and Carlingford. My first challenge was to find the start of the greenway, for there are no signposts to it anywhere in Newry. You have to cross a major road and follow a narrow strip of land between the ship canal and the lough – it’s a bit industrial at first, but you soon get some fine views across open water. The surface is marble-sized gravel, doable in good road tyres if you are a confident rider. At Victoria Lock you reach the newest part of the greenway, a raised walkway that takes you down to the border where the Narrow Water Bridge is being constructed. From here the greenway twists and turns to Omeath, with good surfaces but plenty of blind corners. This is also the busiest part of the greenway, where you will likely find families on hire bikes. Then it’s mostly tarmac alongside the lough with open views of the Mournes until you reach Carlingford marina. The greenway is 12 miles long, but when combined with the existing canal towpath it gives a dedicated cyclepath of 32 miles. I’ve been exploring the many new rides that this fantastic resource enables.

The most obvious ride on offer is the tour of the lough, which means you continue for four miles to Greenore and take the Carlingford Ferry across to Greencastle (20 minutes, 7 Euro), then return on the other side to Newry. This has the disadvantage of very busy roads. A better option is to continue on little roads beside the sea to the very end of the Cooley peninsula and return via the Windy Gap (732 feet), descending with fine views to Omeath and the greenway. There are two mountain roads up to the gap, one with a steady gradient (4%), the other with steeper ramps (6%) and a long plateau in the middle. A tougher option is to take the ferry across the lough and return through the Mournes. Here the climbs are both steeper and higher. Yesterday, I went down the greenway and rode back over the highest pass in the Mournes (1362 feet, with a ramp of 11%) above Spelga dam. Today, of course, my legs are sore. But I’m hoping that the fine weather will continue and I’ll get out for some more good rides before the autumn sets in. I feel I've put my heart scare well behind me.

My Heart MOT

After getting some erratic readings on the heart rate monitor I wore when cycling, I went for a series of cardiac tests. The first of these was a cardiac treadmill test. Sensors were attached to my chest, linked to an ECG machine, then the treadmill started to roll. It was easy at first, but the speed and the incline steadily increased until I was running up a steep hill. The tester told me to keep going until I could do no more; I managed a little over ten minutes in total. Next I had a cardiac CT scan, where dye was injected into my arm to highlight the coronary arteries. This was followed by a Holter ECG monitor, which I wore for 24 hours, to record my heart rhythms whilst awake and sleeping. Finally, I had an Echocardiogram, an ultrasound scan which checked my heart muscle and valves to assess how well my heart was functioning. After all of these, I returned to the hospital to meet the cardiologist and hear the verdict. I was very anxious, I felt sure the erratic readings I’d got whilst cycling indicated some serious underlying heart problem. So I'd been taking it easy.

The cardiologist began with the CT scan results. My coronary arteries were in very good shape for a man of my age. I had minimal narrowing and the plaque was calcified, so I was at low risk of a coronary heart attack. My echocardiogram was normal and my treadmill test score put me in the top 2% of my age group. My heart was working well for someone of my age. I beamed. Despite my wild youth, the subsequent years of healthy living and plenty of exercise had stood me in good stead.

‘But you do have an ectopic heartbeat’, he said.

‘Oh’, I said, my poor heart sinking. ‘What’s that?’

‘Your heart puts in an extra beat’, he said, ‘between the normal beats. The ECG monitor recorded it happening for 10% of the time.’

‘Oh dear... Is it serious?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Not when your heart is healthy. Ectopic beats are common and nothing to worry about.’

‘Why does it happen?’

‘Different parts of your heart muscle can create a beat’, he said. ‘The extra beat can be caused by stress, or stimulants like coffee, or even by exercise itself. The extra beats often confuse a heart rate monitor.’

So that’s where the erratic readings came from. My pulse racing, I asked him the big question. “Can I restart cycling?’

He nodded. ‘That would be good for your heart.’

‘Up and down hills as well?’

‘There is a risk in everything’, he said. ‘But I can see no reason why you should not engage in moderately strenuous exercise.’

I grinned and thanked him. I might have plenty of miles on the clock, but I’d passed my cardiac MOT.