I’m on the move….

Well, for those who’d like to keep up to date with all my writing and running activities, I shall posting it ALL over at http://www.kevinrunsblog.wordpress.com

See you there……


Author On Pause

The gorgeous beach and warm sea in Negril, the isolation and dramatic fells of Boot, Cumbria, the rugged coast path back drop around a log fire in Cadgwith, Cornwall. What do they all have in common? Well Nicky and I have enjoyed fabulous retreats at each of these on more than one occasion. Days of hiking and running and evenings of reading and, of course, WRITING!

Cape Town. Vibrant and colourful, diverse and immense. Days packed, and I mean PACKED, with sightseeing, tourist attractions, trips and, of course a rather special running event. Yes, this was a first for us, we were proper tourists for 8 days and we loved every single exhilarating, exhausting minute of it.

Reading? About half a book between us.

Writing? One tiny blog post and nearly a whole page of the novel.

There’s plenty to come though…..

For tales of the trip please check out http://www.kevinrunsblog.wordpress.com

The Memory Cafe

Another poem, from my growing collection inspired by living with someone who is living with dementia.



by Kevin Bonfield



Knees up. Mother who?


The songs, and posters, the


Jokes and the jokers


For just one minute they


Bring back you




My old man. He said


Ahhh the mini van. I


Remember the plate


The eyes for that minute


Aren’t so dead




So when it’s my turn


Will Oasis and Blur


Or The Who and Kinks


Be my memory prompts


That I should learn




But Every nice girl


Sure loves you, sailor


As you stir from the back


From black empty holes to


An hour in this world




And yes, you still do


Like to be beside the


Seaside, beside yourself


Perhaps you don’t


But the sea air IS you


In The Beginning



She was wrong. She hadn’t been waiting in vain. Suddenly, so suddenly that she almost failed to register the moment, her lover broke the sharp line of the horizon. That defining line between depth and height, between rich turquoise and powder soft blue, broken and bulged by the shape of Adam gracefully gliding towards shore. Eve’s sigh was joyous, full and from the very core of her soul.

Closer To Home (free poetry)

So is it just smaller

Because it’s at Home

Is it just scarier

Because it’s closer to Home

The big things out there

Are they just bigger or

is it ok to say the

confusion at Home

is big too

Blessed to not know

the grief or loss or pain

But challenged by

how does the oven

work and why does

it not have a book

Home is where the

heart lies and yours

lies at Home




Part of a series of Poems –  Inspired by living with, and supporting, a dementia sufferer



Dave had read it somewhere.

It was there, somewhere in the mess of his mind.
Dogs respond to autistic children. Autistic children respond to dogs.
Standing outside the pen with, what he perceived to be, a cute and cuddly spaniel cross seemingly oblivious to his and Lucy’s presence, he doubted the former. Despite earlier enthusiasm, on the journey to the rescue centre, Lucy’s flat refusal to acknowledge the dog was making Dave doubt the latter.
Patience is a virtue. Dave was fairly sure he had read that somewhere too.
An old mongrel, sad eyes but a lightly wagging tail, sauntered towards them in the next pen. “Hello old boy.” Dave mustered as much enthusiasm as his flagging spirit would allow. Lucy rolled her eyes skyward, not even noticing the grey, limping dog now leaning against the wire fence enjoying Dave’s fingers tickling his shoulder.
Maybe it was in one of those Facebook groups, Dave thought. There seems to be a group for every minority, even single, widower fathers, raising an autistic daughter. Yes, he was fairly confident a fellow parent had suggested the dog idea.
Whilst Lucy seemed unfazed attending a mainstream school, she never appeared to befriend any of her peers.  Dave’s time and energy was largely spent kicking down doors, hoping Lucy might like what was behind them.
But he was tired.
Lucy’s mother had died shortly after giving birth, a consequence of multiple complications in the torturous and excruciating labour. For many years, Dave simply accepted that Lucy would be in some way different. A perfectly natural reaction to her start in life.
He’d initially reacted defensively and, he was ashamed to say, quite ignorantly when a nursery worker had suggested Lucy be assessed. Wandering, meandering through her days, Lucy never appeared distressed but seemed unwilling to engage with the other children, nor, particularly, the adults.
So, maybe a dog. Maybe.
The last pen in the block housed two very energetic terrier type puppies, both rushing to see the visitors. Call the cute police, thought Dave, Lucy is going to love these.
Or not.
“Can I take my coat off?” Lucy asked as she again checked out the speed of the low clouds rolling across the roof tops.
Patience is a virtue.
Dave rolled himself upright, Lucy instinctively taking his hand. They headed over to the second block of kennels. Dave took a stronger grip of Lucy’s hand as he heard the threatening growl. A Staffordshire Terrier or similar, crossed with something taller, Dave guessed.

Padding up and down the front fencing of her pen, Dave was reminded of the worn-down tracks around the tiger enclosure at Paignton Zoo on last year’s holiday. He wasn’t comfortable then. He certainly wasn’t comfortable now.
His discomfort intensified dramatically as Lucy slipped his hand and grabbed the wire mesh of the dog’s pen. As he started to reach for her something made him pause. The dog, Duchess, as her name plaque informed him, stopped pacing and turned to study Lucy.
Dave held his hand up to the kennel worker who, clocking Lucy at the fence, was heading their way. He too paused. The four of them, Dave, Lucy, Duchess and the young volunteer seemed frozen in time.
The first to move was Duchess, her heckles visibly smoothing and her crooked tail lifting as she sauntered towards Lucy. Lucy and Duchess had cocked their heads as if mimicking each other. Dave couldn’t help but smile at this. He was in completely unchartered territory now, spellbound. He felt a warmth inside, a stirring, the love of his wonderful late wife, the love FOR his wonderful late wife.
His stomach feeling like it did after their first date, he blinked slowly, confirming that the scene before him was truly unfolding.
Lucy pressed a cheek against the fence, Duchess following her, leaning her bulk heavily, closing her eyes and sighing with a contentment Dave doubted she’d ever had. Lucy giggled.
Lucy was giggling. Dave started to shudder as he felt the heat rising through him. Tears inevitable now. Lucy giggled again. Dave had never heard anything like it.
Duchess took a step back, sat down and reached forward with her neck, taking in the aroma of an unlikely friendship. Not slavering or lapping at Lucy’s face, just gently sniffing, a few inches of respect and trust between them.
Suddenly not so tired, Dave turned to the volunteer, who was himself fighting a lump in his throat.
“I guess that’s our dog!”