SONGS AND SCRIPTS AND DUNKING BISCUITS

Every day tales of a winging-it creative

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about

I’ve written bits and pieces on BBC Radio 2, 4 and 5 comedy shows, worked in the script team for two series of Channel 4’s comedy-drama ‘Shameless’ and am currently working with The Royal Court Theatre in Liverpool as part of their script development programme. I am also a songwriter with songs on all major platforms.

  • HOW SONGS STUMBLE SLOWLY AND NERVOUSLY INTO THE WORLD

    Any creative process can be a question of trial and error, and that includes blogs. Not many of us write a piece in one flow, make a little tweak before considering it good enough to go and excitedly click ‘publish’.

    Well some may, but they have clearly made a pact with the devil. Or they are a genius. More likely they just put out terrible blogs.

    For the majority of us we are constantly adding in or taking out, moving parts to different places, then just before we send it out into the blogging world we see a gap or glaring error we had missed and thank the blogging gods we saw it in time. Then we are surprised when we look over to the right hand column (on WordPress anyway) to see how many revisions we have made.

    Or maybe that’s just me.

    For a song, it’s all that but bigger. Some songs just come out all in one big go and that is just fabulous. Some very successful, memorable songs have come out that way. Famously Paul McCartney woke up with the song ‘Yesterday’ in his head, then made some necessary lyrical tweaks and he’d created the most covered song of all time.

    That’s Paul McCartney. But then there’s song-writers like me.

    In fairness to myself, for most song-writers it’s a tentative start when we find, or stumble upon, a nice chord progression and then go along with it to see where it leads. Parts progress in a nice rush then stop. Some stop permanently, or get used in another song altogether. Or we add a bit, discard some ideas, swear a lot, then add a bit more.

    The best part is when something comes and sets free the rest of the song. Suddenly you realise you have something. It can be so exciting. But the process can take weeks, or even months. And in the end you don’t know if it’s actually any good before you put it out.

    My latest song, ‘Ask Me Again’, which came out on April 21st, was very much like that. Once I had it closer to fully written, I recorded a very rough, slightly nervous demo on to my phone. Being just a phone propped up against something, the sound levels are off, the playing stumbling, the vocal patchy. I was at this point still discovering the song myself.

    If you are interested in part or whole, here is the demo on the link below.

    Despite its  un-promising beginnings I felt I had something. Studio time was already booked. From this basic demo the hours in the studio elevated it to its full potential. Thankfully I am fortunate enough to be able to work with a fabulous producer John Kettle. We discussed the song and it’s sentiments – how a victim of controlling behaviour in a relationship finds the strength to push back – and how it could be best served by the production.

    At Johns hands we created a tension to the track. Layers were put down, foundations built. Guitar parts added. At this point obsession kicks in; nothing else matters other than what we’re doing in the studio. You want people to hear this.

    Then over the next few weeks doubt has taken root. Is it actually any good? Will it connect? Yet despite this I’ve created the artwork. I’ve sent the song to Distrokid who distribute it to all the streaming platforms. Bit by bit I’ve created a video to compliment as well as promote the song, which in itself can be a creative trial.

    Then it comes out, and that’s the exciting bit, but I’ve also steeled myself to the potential thud of indifference. Most people, friends, people I know, aren’t universally interested. The majority of the people who play the song are strangers and with no axe to grind and if they like it, that’s a real testament to whether what I’ve made is any good.

    Here is the video for you to hear the leap from initial demo to completed recording and video:

    Thankfully the song is being received well and streams are starting to rise rapidly. Since its release on April 21st it has become my most streamed song on Spotify, to date double more than any song I’ve written. Monthly listeners have gone from around 40 to; at present, 1,819. Music bloggers are taking notice including this one from Clive Pilcher at Take It Easy who I am grateful to say is very supportive of my song-writing.

    Yet it all feels a long way from when I picked up the probably slightly out-of-tune guitar in my bedroom and stumbled into the beginnings of the song. But then like most things worthwhile, if it was easy, it wouldn’t be as much fun.   

  • LINES

    A local cinema years in decay now refurbished, re-loved, and ready to open it’s doors again

    For Debbie’s One Word Sunday

  • MY 3 SECRET AND TOTALLY UN-COOL MUSICAL PLEASURES

    All of us, myself included, to some level like to cultivate a musical identity that is eclectic, knowledgeable and a little edgy.

    Oh we’re in sync with what is happening right now. Too right we are. We may not like it, we may not get it, but we like people to know we are aware that it’s a thing.

    Electro-fusion-pop-what? Ice-rock-synth-eighties-retrorap-classic. Really? Metal-mix-pot-alt-country crossover who? Do we get a doggie bag with all that?

    We have our streaming platform sorted. We may nod sagely at new artists, we’re aware of Sabrina Carpenter even if we can’t name more than one of her tracks. Our playlists may include Mitski (top Indie band of 2024, but you knew that, right?), be peppered with a little Arctic Monkeys, Hozier and Tame Impala.

    Or maybe you’re too clever to be dragged into all that nonsense. Maybe your tastes are ‘classic’ artists for whom cool is part of their musical DNA – Dylan, Leonard Cohen, Billie Holliday, Floyd, Aretha, Willie Nelson, Johnny Cash. And on vinyl, of course, and none of that bright shiny over-priced new vinyl taken from digital recordings anyway. All our albums are weather beaten, have six different kinds of bacteria on the sleeve and have what some may call scratches but we refer to as battle scars.

    But what if when we’re alone, when no-one is listening in, when no-one is watching, we like to go rogue. What if we like to indulge ourselves in something others would consider as irrelevant, musical pap. Something we know we shouldn’t like but just makes us feel good. Guilty, but a nice, naughty guilty.

    This is my musical confession time. Here are my top three , totally uncool bands/artists that I listen to but wouldn’t normally share with anyone. Here are what many would consider to be musical sins, but they are sins I don’t intend to shed.

    FOREIGNER

    Foreigner are so uncool, I would be hard pressed to ever hear them on any radio station, particularly here in the UK. Real rock fans would never have them in their collection, they would look down their incense loaded noses at a band they would probably consider as pop. Foreigner fall between so many musical stools they may as well stay on the floor where most feel they belong.

    They don’t possess the sex appeal of Bon Jovi, the laddish blokes-next-door-done-good credibility of Def Leppard, they don’t have the dirty son-in-law from hell vibe of Aerosmith or have the dues paid reputation of Van Halen.

    But they could write a tune could Foreigner. I would argue they could write a tune better and more consistently than any of them. And in Lou Gramm they had a hugely underrated lead vocalist who’s soul-tinged voice could hit a ballad better than any and still have a rock edge to satisfy.

    ‘Feels Like The First Time’, ‘Waiting For A Girl Like You’, ‘Urgent’, ‘I Wanna Know What Love Is’, ‘Head Games’, ‘Cold As Ice’, these are, in my opinion, brilliantly crafted rock songs which admittedly aren’t musical Shakespeare, but many in their field would struggle to replicate. Hard but clean guitar, great choruses, and they resisted the tendency to litter them with self-indulgent guitar solos.

    Simplicity in song writing is so hard to master and Foreigner knew how to do it. Inane lyrics, but I don’t care belting them out when driving. It may only be a once-a-year indulgence, but I do love a bit of Foreigner.  So there.

    GLEN CAMPBELL

    Glen Campbell came into me and my sisters lives via our parents who were big fans. Back then in the 1970’s Glen came to epitomise a musical genre known as ‘Easy Listening’. You’d find an endless stream of artists in this section of a record shop and I have no problem with the genre, some great artists got lumped in there.

    But none greater than Glen. Glen was a fantastic guitar player who earned his crust in the early days playing on a endless stream of big hits from artists such as Cher, Frank Sinatra and The Beach Boys. Glen however had something more special again than an ability to quickly know what was required from a studio session – he had an insanely fabulous voice.

    Glen Campbell’s voice could soar with a purity and a power that was instantly recognisable. He knew how to interpret a lyric and his partnership with song-writer Jimmy Webb was legendary, both able to feed off the others individual strengths, bringing a stream of hits in the 1970’s that stand the test of time. ‘Galveston’, ‘By The Time I Get To Phoenix’, and the peerless ‘Wichita Lineman’.

    ‘Wichita Lineman’ can still move me emotionally after five decades of listening to it. It represents better than any other song that restless, ever-moving spirit of the US of that period. It has had books written about it, and has influenced many artists of different genres. It is one of the greatest songs, and the greatest contemporary recordings, that I’ve ever heard.

    Towards the end of his life Glen’s albums featured covers of songs from The Foo Fighters, Green Day, Travis, U2, Tom Petty, and were tremendous. His ability to make any song sound like a Glen Campbell original is staggering.

    His right-wing politics aside, I’ve always got time for Glen. I managed to see him twice in concert, and each time was a treat.

    BREAD

    Of my three guilty choices Bread is probably the least well known from anyone born from 1980 onwards, and also from some may have the least credibility.

    They are spurned when people talk about the great groups of their period, despite their many hits. Bread didn’t trash hotels rooms, have tabloid reputations, or hang around with their contemporaries much. They didn’t have an image, though some consider them twee.

    But I just loved their song-writing. Their melodies we simple and fabulous. In James Griffin and Robb Royer they had two fine song-writers but constantly existed under the shadow of David Gates who penned most of the bands hit’s ‘Make It With You’, ‘If’, ‘Baby I’m-A Want You’, It Don’t Matter To Me’, ‘Guitar Man’ and more.

    But my favourite David Gates song is the wonderfully moving ‘Everything I Own’. Written for his late father, this song was murdered by Ken Boothe and chopped up and put in a bin bag by Boy George, neither of which I can stand to hear.

    The original however, feels as touching and as beautiful today as when I first heard it in my early teens.

    So there you go, my favourite musical guilty pleasures.

    Are they really that bad? Maybe you were expecting Boney M. Billy Ray Cyrus? Right Said Fred? Or maybe they would be your guilty pleasures. Go on tell me, I won’t share, I promise.           

  • Hurdles To Glory #WordlessWednesday #Photography

  • Light And Dark, Cables and Steel #WordlessWednesday #Photography

  • HOW THE HOLY GRAIL GOT SQUEEZED OUT BY THE MOP-HEAD

    I recently came across a blog I published on March 5th, 2014. It was my first blog and one of just three I published under the umbrella of ‘The Loneliness of The Long Distance Scriptwriter’.

    Within days of publishing the blog I began working for a charity for the next decade and gave up script-writing for six years as I juggled working full-time and caring for my father whose needs were becoming increasingly obvious.

    The previous two years I had scraped desperately along for money as I committed myself full-time to the precariously difficult task of establishing myself as a script-writer. And I did well. I was invited for meetings at nearby Red Productions who produced BAFTA nominated and BAFTA winning television.

    I was a finalist in another major script-writing competition that had me at meetings in London’s West End and opened doors for me at Kudos, another massive production company. I was shortlisted in the BBC Writers Prize.

    All of which sounds great, and there was more besides. But in TV, and radio, the wheels turn slowly. My income had dropped to the bare minimum. My debts were rising, quickly. At one point I was considering whether to pawn an expensive watch I had been awarded for long-service in a previous job. I had taken to doing online surveys to bring in the odd few pounds. Laborious, self-esteem sapping stuff.

    Going back to working in an office on March 12th 2014 meant I had a regular income and I was able to start reducing my debts. Going out occasionally. But after coming so close to achieving my dream is was heart breaking. It took me nearly eight years to get back to being known as a writer again, by which time all the contacts I’d made had moved on.

    But with steady, if not large income, I was able through sacrifice to pay off my debts. I started song-writing which I could do in little time pockets and has opened up other worlds for me that I didn’t expect and give me huge delight. And I’ve recently had a play performed regularly in front of an appreciative, paying audience in a major city.

    Finding the blog, which I’m re-producing here under the original title, made me smile. It was amusing and made light of the horrible financial hole I was in.

    Hope you enjoy.

    Let me to ask you something. How often have you seriously considered the range and diversity of the mop-head? Not as often as you’d like? I get that. I was the same until last week when I filled in an online survey on replacement mop-heads. I confess I had complete ignorance on the subject. You won’t, for instance, find my name on any online discussion groups debating what I imagine is an age-old battle of mop-head against soaky-up foam squeezy alternative.

    The only reason I completed the survey was because it would push me to the £10 threshold that would release funds from the online survey site. In the most purest of terms, this was a means to an end. And how the survey sadists made me work for it.

    In the course of the TWENTY MINUTE survey they asked me where I bought my replacement mop-head from, if I was swayed by price or quality, whether I consider myself to make mop-head purchases based on need or emotion, and if the mop-head I chose was a European country would it represent one of the cooler, more detached nations like Holland, or somewhere more fiery and temperamental like Italy.  As I’ve never seen my mop either smoke a joint or carry out a hit I opted for ‘Prefer Not To Say’.

    These are the absurdities that life is filled with when you choose to live (see ‘exist’) for the pursuit of your supposed creative art. The riches from this survey would give me the luxury of fuel in the car or, should I be really feeling self-indulgent, a four-pack of lager and a large pack of Hot Chilli Dorito’s for sitting in watching Season 7 of Dexter (hey I’m a writer, I’m not supposed to have a social life – it’s the rule).

    So that’s kind of what happens. A lot. It’s what they don’t tell you on the adverts for glossy writing retreats, Screenwriting Masters Degrees and master classes. On these there are never any strategies for when your Holy Grail changes from the six-part authored series on primetime BBC to filling in surveys on mop-heads just to help you get by. But don’t worry, that’s what this blog’s for. Occasionally.

    Now if you’ll excuse me, someone wants to know my opinion on the laminated paper clip. As soon as I discover what my opinion on the laminated paper clip is, there’s a £5 voucher in it for me. Kerching dear writer, Kerching!!   

  • 5 INANIMATE OBJECTS I COULDN’T DO WITHOUT

    I am currently sorting through a houseful of ‘stuff’ ahead of a potential move in the next couple of months. De-cluttering is the modern phrase for it. Throwing out crap is what some may prefer to call it.

    Fortunately I don’t have much crap, but certainly a lot of stuff that should have been thrown out, re-cycled, donated or sold a long time back. My father had many great qualities, but an ability to get rid of un-needed items or paperwork wasn’t one of them. “You never know when you might need it” was a much used excuse for not off-loading items long past their usefulness.

    So far I’m doing well. But it isn’t easy. I’ve managed to be quite purposeful and unsentimental as I know I’m down-sizing and the last thing I want is a new home full of items I won’t need but can’t quite bring myself to throw out. I very much want to start fresh and I don’t want things that will inhibit that.

    Admittedly however, letters and photos or general paperwork I haven’t seen before or had forgotten about have brought back memories of loved ones and have tinged my sorting hours with a real melancholy. I will be keeping a very select number of these items and I feel fine with that.

    And this got me thinking about the inanimate items that I cherish that I couldn’t discard. Items that have travelled down the years with me, that others may look at and not feel drawn to or know could be ‘up-graded’. Things that may not fit in with the décor but I couldn’t ever consider not being there.

    So I tried to narrow it down to 3 but that wasn’t possible. But I could list 5 that felt right, and each one felt essential. Allow me to introduce you to them, in no particular order of importance.  

    1.ITALIAN MANDOLIN

    The Mariam Webster Dictionary definition of an inanimate object is ‘something that is not alive’. Like a book, a rock, or a chair. It didn’t list a musical instrument, but I imagine that would be considered the same.

    If so I’d very much disagree. I believe an object can have a life, maybe even a soul. Take the first object, a mandolin, a family heirloom that I believe carries many mysteries and memories since it was made in Napoli in 1897. One of those mysteries that is unlikely ever to be solved is how we came to have it in the first place. And I’m quite happy not to know, it means I can create my own story around it.

    Decorated in mother-of pearl inlays on the sound hole and the fretboard, this instrument was meant to be played, though it hasn’t been in at least sixty years, certainly not since it lost its strings and bridge.

    But I love this mandolin, I think of the places it has been to get here in northern England, and those who have played it, and how it may sound. It is a long-held ambition, one hopefully nearing fruition, that I can have it restored and played on one of the recordings of my songs. What a truly wonderful day that will be.

    2. CHINESE COFFEE TABLE

    I was born in Hong Kong, my father Gordon being stationed there with the RAF along with my mother Jean who joined him not long after his detachment.

    To commemorate my birth my parents went into one of the myriad of stalls in the endless back streets of Hong Kong and bought this coffee table. It is engraved with a storyline of Chinese characters along its top.

    Like the mandolin it is need of some skilful care from a French polisher and its original glass probably needs replacing. It’s nearing the top of my list of things-to-do. Similar tables are being sold for hundreds of pounds, but given the reason for its purchase, to me it is priceless.

    3. PHOTOGRAPH WITH MY SISTERS

    Taken in the back room of our then home in Whiston, Merseyside, two of the three of us look cute and adorable. Then there’s me. I was approximately 7 at the time.

    My sister Jane would be 4, and my youngest sister Sandra would be 1. I remember the photographer setting up the shot and our parents making us laugh to put us at ease. I think of how young the parents we were looking at would be.

    I loved The Beatles and I was just discovering The Rolling Stones. Everything was ahead of us. Good times.

    4. YAMAHA ACOUSTIC GUITAR

    This quite cheap acoustic guitar was bought at Dawsons Music shop in Warrington, Cheshire during a phase when I had decided I wanted to be a rock god. Once I realised I couldn’t play like Clapton after a month the guitar just kicked around my bedroom for about twenty-five years mostly gathering dust and being periodically moved out of the way.

    Then ten years ago when I had put writing to one side while I cared for my father I picked up the guitar again and encouraged by a friend, taught myself four basic, but fundamentally important chords. And I just played them over and over daily for up to twenty minutes at a time, the exercise a sort of therapy away from the daily tensions of being a carer .

    Then in 2016 I wrote my first solo song. Nine years later I have fourteen songs on Spotify, have my own YouTube channel and though I don’t have a huge following, my songs written on this guitar have been heard all over the world. I have since up-graded from this guitar, but this is still the one I write on. I consider it a friend and would not discard it for anything.

    5. GRAND CANYON MUG

    It’s a cheap mug with a mass produced, not particularly detailed illustration of a section of the Grand Canyon on one side. It is titled Grand Canyon in a basic, unimaginative font. No reference to the wonder of the natural phenomenon it represents; there is no ceramic hyperbole here.

    But I bought this mug on a mid-October day in 1987 that was the culmination of a 10-year journey from despair when I had no prospects, no money and had lost my mother to cancer only eighteen months earlier. I dreamed of being somewhere, anywhere that was better than where I was, geographically, emotionally and psychologically.

    I dreamed of going to the Grand Canyon. It took me a decade of dreaming and saving to get there. Three weeks before I got there I travelled to New York, and took the Greyhound bus across the width of the United States to get to Arizona.

    So every time I see this cheap little cup, I remind myself that if I dream large enough, and work hard enough, anything is possible.

    There you go then, five items that represent who I am, and each matters deeply to me. They may be quantified as inanimate, but to me they are alive and precious.

    But you must have items that mean similar things to you. What would you never part with? What items do you have that others may glance at and never give a second thought to that mean the world to you?

  • JOANNE THE CARER WALKING THE STREETS TO HELP THOSE IN NEED

    There is a lady who walks the streets of my local area called Joanne.

    Joanne is a carer who works for a nearby caring agency and I first became aware of her when she used to call to my house to visit my father when I was juggling caring for him and working full-time.

    Joanne used to get sandwiches I’d left in the fridge, put them on a plate and give them to him and although she wasn’t allowed to administer his medication she used to encourage him to take them if he’d forgotten or simply hadn’t paid them attention. She also made him a cup of tea.

    In the afternoon she would call back, tidy up the plate and make him another drink. Each visit was 15 minutes long but would break up my father’s day when he only had the television for company and with his mobility problems not able to get out on his own.

    The patience and compassion of a carer (photo from Borough Care, North-West England)

    For me at that time Joanne was a godsend. I knew that far beyond giving him sandwiches and a drink she would make the agency aware if he seemed unwell or had fallen; which thankfully throughout the course of her visits he never did.

    But Joanne doesn’t drive. Now, as of then, she walks between her house visits for miles each day, wind, rain, snow or sunshine. A slightly-built  woman in her 60’s, who I haven’t seen wear a heavy winter coat, I can only imagine her brisk pace keeps her suitably warm. Ten years after she used to visit my Dad she is still doing the same, walking from house to house, providing low level but absolutely essential care.

    When my father’s care needs became more intense, other carers replaced Joanne who came in pairs and drove. She actually only called for a few months, but I remember her because of my astonishment at how she did her job without the capacity to drive. Goodness knows how many steps she does daily but then I don’t expect she would know herself.

    Several of the carers who replaced Joanne became friends during that time, I would get to hear all the ins and outs of their families trials and tribulations, about the pressures of the job and the workload they were struggling with. And we had some big laughs. Some of them had considerable personalities and their characters would fill up the room when they came.

    When my Dad needed the type of help I couldn’t give I used to reassure him ‘the carers will be here soon’, and I would regularly be filled with relief when I heard them come through the door, knowing with their skills and dedication they would be able to give him some comfort, especially when he was suffering with bed sores.

    After my Dad passed away in June 2018 the carers obviously stopped coming. They were suddenly, instantly, sucked away like they had been scooped up in a big human vacuum. The quietness in the house that replaced them, and him, was a large, smothering presence. I can sometimes feel it even now.

    My firm belief, and I was gladly able to tell the carers when they were kind enough to attend my Dad’s funeral, that without them the fabric of essential parts of society would crumble. We don’t need the self-serving politicians or the sporting highly paid sports stars or television and internet sensations.

    We do however, need the Joanne’s of this world. Flawed, ordinary, and magnificent angels who for low wages and far too little respect, administer help to those in need. And in that I include loved ones thrust into a caring role they often feel inadequate to deal with. For them, every Joanne is a superstar.           

  • LOWER ATTENTION SPAN AND THE CONTINUING RISE OF BRAIN-ROT

    I read somewhere recently that said attention span on social media is now down to a shocking 47 seconds per article or post. Ten years ago is was around two and a half minutes.

    And apparently, the average time spent reading blogs is 16 seconds. Which suggests that most people have given up on this blog already!

    This state of affairs now has an official title: Brain Rot. Basically put, brain rot is excessive consumption of  short videos that are the lifeblood of platforms like TikTok in particular, but also Facebook, Instagram and the myriad of other platforms vying for our attention. In addition of course so many of us are on several WhatsApp groups pinging away regularly whilst we try to deal with texts and the continual array of pop-ups.

    On average a worker can check emails up to 77 times a day. Just imagine twenty years ago popping to check if the postman had been, 77 times daily. Mad, right?

    It’s not all about FOMO either. It’s the dopamine rush when we get a message or approval from someone, anyone. About, anything. But mentally, it can be exhausting as well as unnecessary.

    According to Dr Vigneshwar Paleri, a clinical psychologist writing on Yahoo, our brains are knackered (non-clinical term) by the effort of trying to manage all manner of online attention seeking missiles being hurled in our direction. Our brains simply weren’t wired for it all. Feel free to read Dr Paleri’s full article here. If you can spare the time.

    DON’T JUST BLAME IT ON YOUTH

    Young people are apparently buying burner phones so they can’t get distracted by social media. This is an encouraging sign, but in reality what percentage are actually doing this?

    But it isn’t just young people who are incumbent in this trend of low attention span. I used to work with two women in their fifties who on their break time would sit and scroll endlessly through their phones, like programmed robots. And what used to get their attention most of all? Short videos on TikTok and Facebook.

    Of course all of this isn’t good for truth and authenticity, with Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg announcing last week the ending of its fact-checking programme in the US. This is likely to mean more people with attention span deficits seeing a fleeting headline and presuming it to be truthful.

    How many of them are likely to stop, seek out a fact-checking website and explore further? But I don’t imagine Mr Z is too concerned with such trivialities.

    HITTING THE LOW NOTES

    I have noticed it myself with my song-writing. When I first started to post my songs on Facebook nine years ago, average engagement percentage was high. When I started my dedicated song-writing page I had a handful of followers . Now, despite having 180 followers I’ll be lucky if I get a dozen plays from it for a new song release.

    And checking through other songwriters and artists FB pages, including those with much higher follower numbers than me, this seems to be pretty much the norm. This from people who have made the decision to follow a page for updates on an artists music.

    In the end it is probably because we are asking people to put aside around four minutes to listen to a song. In these days of constant distraction and busy lives, four minutes can seem like a long commitment.

    SO WHAT HOPE FOR THE BLOG?

    Well there are people way more qualified than myself to answer this, but the fact is there are still over four million million blogs posted each day, so somebody is reading them. And of course the average reading time of 16 seconds is probably skewed by the subscribers to blogs who don’t bother reading them and instead just open and click ‘like’.

    So if you have got this far reading this blog thank-you and well done, you are obviously someone who likes to buck the latest trend. For now at least.  

  • Taking Bicycle Security To New Heights #WordlessWednesday #Photography

    Photograph by Paul Ariss