About …

I am a writer who spent most of my working life as a journalist. I used to write offbeat commentary pages for the Eastern Daily Press, based in Norwich, England, and earlier a weekly piece called Square One for the Church of England Newspaper – hence the title of this site. I am also a poet, a walker, a chess player, a driver, a husband, a father, a grandparent, a guitar player, a reader, a TV watcher, a pensioner and a Christian, among other things. I love Norfolk, Scotland, the coast, deserts, rivers, mountains and almost everywhere I find myself, though not necessarily in that order. I like to look at things sideways, wherever possible. I have published seven  poetry books: Mist and Fire (2003), Off the Map (2007), Running with Scissors (2011), Stillness lies Deep (with Joy McCall, 2014), Iona: The Road Ends (2015), Waving from a Distance (2017) and Under Cover of Day (see below). I have been a member of the poetry group Chronicle and edited a book on the Pastons in Norwich, which contains directions for a walk, a bit of history and some poems by myself and others. It’s called In the Footprints of the Pastons. Click here for more information on the Pastons.

I also enjoy photography, without being in any way an expert. Some of my pictures can be found on Flickr, and some are included in Stillness Lies Deep and Iona: The Road Ends.

Poems under cover

My most recent poetry book, Under Cover of Day, has been published by Paul Dickson Books. It is available from pauldicksonbooks.co.uk or from Amazon, priced competitively at £6.


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Latest article

Vote for a nice chap

A good friend of mine has erected a placard on her property advising whoever passes by to vote for the Liberal Democrats at the upcoming council elections. This, she tells me, is because the candidate is a nice chap. 

An excellent reason, I’m sure you’ll agree. In fact the recently revived School of Penguins, Chess and Road Surfacing at the University of East Anglia has recently published a far-reaching, in-depth research paper that comes to very much the same conclusion. 

The author, Professor Ian “Sam” Aufmerksam, who has recently returned from a sabbatical in the Antarctic, said yesterday that it was quite clearly a waste of time to examine the policy statements of various parties, as the Prime Minister had made clear in the most brilliant way that policies were flexible, contradictory and in many cases irrelevant. 

“This is happening almost everywhere,” Prof Aufmerksam told our reporter. “If we merely determined which of the candidates for a particular seat was a nice chap –or chapess, obviously – we could vote for them without their suddenly revealing themselves to be antisemitic, or globalist, or in favour of potholes and ridiculously slow speed limits.  

Prof Aufmerksam’s findings were welcomed by local hero Henry (Fred) “Shrimp” Houseago, who described himself as a “nice chap, always ready to help”. Despite being defeated in a poll at Corpusty East some time ago following a 90 per cent swing, Mr Houseago has resurfaced after attending a retreat run by the radical Rev Nick Repps-cum-Bastwick in the Autonomous Republic of Hingham. 

As already reported, Mr Houseago spent some years taking part in an experiment run by Professor V A R Scheinlich, an expert in wormholes and time-space distortion. As a result of this he was reassessing his age to “something more realistic”. He felt he was ready to take control.

Meanwhile Len “Kissme” Hardy of Hindolveston, a whole food chef and comet chaser described by Mr Houseago as a “thorn in the flesh” after his dalliance with “nice chap” Dorothea Goodchild, is considering standing for the European Union, whatever that is. A search of Norfolk has revealed no placards in his name, however, and it is unclear which party he represents. 

Asked what his attitude was to the war in the Middle East, he said: “Yes.”

Latest poem

Heading towards icy

On rough, rough seas and whitewashed waves
my stomach heaves
the edges rocking on and on:
our vessel tips from side to side
no taste nor energy
How near am I to leaving, docking
one last time?

Is that decay my fingertips can feel?
The creeping dark
the dreadful sound
of ants on deck
and beetles in the cabin floor
the shutting of the cabin door
on memories long cast aside
but knocking on the wall
old truths and lies
shape-changing as I fall

And more: the hills ashore are steeper now:
a woman walking backwards passes me
hands me goalkeepers’ gloves, shutting out light
just when I need to score

I keep my phone line clear
but no-one calls
I reach and reach again

The empty beach erodes
I stand on cliffs
or fall into the sea
Just you, just me