writing | Wait until next year

July 29, 2026

Joshua Ray Walker at The Lower Third, London

A blurry photo from the back of a gig, there are lots of people in front of the stage, a figure on the stage appears to glow white

Ever since I first heard him I knew that Joshua Ray Walker was one of the best singers and songwriters in the world right now. After seeing him live I am more and more convinced he is right up there with the very best active today.

Walker is a Texan country singer who has been performing for over 20 years and releasing incredible records for nearly a decade. This is country music in the more classic sense rather than the plastic sense – storytelling, heartache, humour and humanity. His records show country can still be as meaningful, immediate and vital as it has ever been, that it doesn’t need to be drenched in irony or faux-retro stylings or slick production.

More recently, Walker has faced a cancer diagnosis and treatment, that then progressed to a diagnosis of terminal cancer, followed by the miracle of that diagnosis being misplaced and him coming out the other side cancer-free. My family has had a similar story to tell in recent years so I feel a particular affinity for his work, especially what was produced around and after that terrible time. Surviving isn’t easy, being a survivor isn’t either, but as Walker’s latest album states, he “Ain’t Dead Yet”.

But before I get to his performance, a note for his support act – Malin Pettersen. She was the perfect opener, absolutely setting the scene and creating the right atmosphere for a very special evening. Her songs were a form of otherworldly americana, imitate yet powerful, and balancing both intensely personal moments and much bigger themes and ideas.

Pettersen has a rare voice, one that is technically flawless yet sounds totally effortless, switching from a tender, quiet head voice that transfixed the audience to the kind of looping jet-propelled melodies that filled the room. A really extraordinary artist, and an inspiring one too, someone not afraid to talk about the value of art and creativity in a harsh and unforgiving world.

She is back in London this October and I would very much recommend you getting tickets if you can.

And so to Joshua Ray Walker. Well. This was a real all-timer gig. One I will always remember. Just one man with a guitar commanding a room in the most human and wonderful way possible. I think “authenticity” gets used too much these days, either as some kind of short-hand for hoary old revivalism or as a simulacrum of real that is actually anything but. Yet, Walker is truly, properly authentic – this was a night of true soul, of someone reaching out and making a genuine connection with a room full of strangers.

We got the mind-blowing guitar playing and rattling rhythms of Bronco Billy, the sweetness of Dumpster Diving, the evocative storytelling of Boat Show Girl and Lot Lizard. There was the the tender ache of True Love and the playful arm around the shoulder of Texas Sober. Ain’t Dead Yet became an anthem, everyone encouraged to sing along. Capital Letters was a highlight, one of his greatest songs, one of a growing list of proper, honest-to-goodness country music standards that Walker is writing, the kind of song that gives you the best kind of shivers. Voices might have the been the standout performance, Walker’s voice and delivery literally stunning the audience into hushed awe. An intense, transcendent moment.

Walker is not just a great singer and songwriter but an amazing performer and engaging raconteur too – really funny, relatable, open, silly, heartfelt. With each introduction he brought us closer to the songs, giving them more context, more meaning – from explaining his medical history before Ain’t Dead Yet to the relationship with his grandfather that inspired Capital Letters. We heard how he has been inspired by truck stops and boat shows and rummaging around dumpsters, how he has been able to mine the specific (an overheard conversation, a difficult post-gig exchange, his grandfather’s handwriting in his toolshed) and create something truly universal. This is the alchemy of a truly special songwriter, to move beyond platitudes, to root songs in the real, but find something we can all relate to, whoever we are and wherever we are.

Steve Earle famously said “Townes Van Zandt’s the best songwriter in the world, and I’ll stand on Bob Dylan’s coffee table in my cowboy boots and say that.” Well, if I had a pair of cowboy boots I would do the same on behalf of Joshua Ray Walker. He just might be the best singer and performer out there too.

It is nights like this that remind me how important art can, and should, be. How important live music is, and especially live music that is accessible and intimate and isn’t just a once-a-year treat at some stadium where you realise you’re mainly watching a screen rather than the stage. We live in truly difficult times, politically and often personally, and great art helps you to realise that you are not alone, that there is something common in the human experience, there is something worth treasuring, something worth fighting for. Both Pettersen and Walker reminded me of all that, gave me a little comfort, a little hope, a little glimpse of how life is and how it could be. I was fortunate to be there. We are fortunate to have artists like this. We ain’t dead yet.

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June 26, 2026

Pub Thoughts #14 (Sport at the Spoons)

A corner of a Wetherspoons pub. A TV showing football is mounted high up on the wall. There is bright white light fitting hanging from the ceiling. Pump clips are on the wall.

Several years ago I came to the realisation that I really don’t enjoy watching football in pubs. There might be a good atmosphere, but there is every chance there won’t be…especially if the game isn’t going the right way. I’m not a huge fan of football commentary but I would still prefer to hear the analysis of professionals rather the addled and misinformed musings of a pub bore behind me. I’d prefer not to crane my neck trying not to miss a key moment. I’d rather not miss swathes of the game entirely because I’m at the bar or trying to get in the loos. I’m just not sure that watching sport in a pub, as popular as it is, actually works.

And yet…the other day I found myself needing to get myself some tea, I fancied a drink after a day in a warm office followed by a hotter commute, and realised there was a World Cup game on I would quite like to watch. So, I headed to the local Spoons as it ticked all the relevant boxes.

I remember a time when Wetherspoons didn’t have TVs, prided themselves on not having them. But they are here now. This particular Spoons usually has CBeebies playing in the more family-oriented end – a really smart call, in my book. And across the rest of the pub usually has BBC News on, just to add a little more depression and desperation to your Wetherspoons Experience. But when there is a major sporting event on terrestrial television, like the World Cup, they stick it on.

And it worked! There is table service through the app so you don’t have to worry about a scrum at the bar – as much as there are mixed views about table service in pubs, it works brilliantly when the football is on. Much better having a few staff move about than the whole pub, and getting everyone on a table so they have somewhere to be served. No more tactical dives for a pint during a break in play or rushing to the bar at half-time.

The TV was silenced so it didn’t dominate. Pub bores (if there were any) didn’t need to shout over the telly, so we were spared hearing their insights. You could watch it if you wanted, but ignore it if you didn’t.

I think the inherent facelessness and impersonal nature of Wetherspoons is sometimes its downfall, but in situations like this is its greatest strength. A place where you can do what you want, not be disturbed and have food and drink brought to your table promptly and professionally. A place to watch football, a place to completely ignore it.

It wasn’t your usual football crowd either, and all the better for it. Couples having an early dinner. Families sat surrounded by shopping bags, resting their legs after a bit of a spree. Teens gathered furtively in a booth. Young lads in Adidas and gold chains sipping their Stella, politely. An old woman sat on her own without food and drink watching videos on her phone. I wish she had headphones, though.

Of course it helped that it wasn’t an England game, I think that might be a step too far, but it was a nice surprise to find the whole experience to be far better than I expected. I wasn’t just not overly annoyed or frustrated by it all but actually really enjoyed it.

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June 5, 2026

Pub Thoughts #13 (Tamworth Tap)

Interior of the Tamworth Tap, there are hops and fairy lights hanging from the ceiling, lots of old Belgian beer ads on the walls and wooden pews as seating

The Tamworth Tap is a three-time CAMRA National Pub of the Year. I felt a degree of trepidation before entering. There’s always a worry with anything so acclaimed that it might not live up to its billing, might be a disappointment, might be something I just don’t get.

I get this feeling with books, films, TV, as well as pubs. I don’t think it is quite inverted snobbery, a sense that if something is popular it can’t be good. More, I think it is a feeling that perhaps my tastes might not be calibrated with those who have brought forth the praise. And this is even more keenly felt with anything CAMRA. It is a good organisation, doing good things, but sometimes the pubs its members value can be…odd choices. Other times they get it spot-on, but there is no guarantee. I have spent a few afternoons collared by a CAMRA Man telling me their pub philosophy and their views have rarely matched mine.

So, trepidation, hesitation, doubt.

The backbar of the Tamworth Tap. There are a wide variety of spirits on the shelves and retro illuminated sign saying "Off Licence - WINES & SPIRITS"

I need not have worried. The Tamworth Tap is wonderful, majestic even. It is a validation of whatever process CAMRA undertake when choosing their pub of the year. It’s as good as a pub could be. It’s one of those places where you just keep ticking off your list of what would be in your dream pub.

There are lots of nooks to tuck yourself into. Little booths created out of old pews. A bar as a beacon in the middle, with an old illuminated off licence sign guiding you to a thoughtful selection of cask, keg and spirits – a mix of modern, unusual and old classics. Old Belgian beer ads adorn a wall. Pub memorabilia is dotted about to pique your interest or trigger your nostalgia. Hops and fairy lights hang off the ceiling to soften the corners. Even the music is perfect, a great selection at a volume that’s the ultimate sweet spot – where it masks the chat of others but isn’t so loud that you can’t be heard yourself. Everything adds to a feeling of welcome, cosiness, a home from home.

Frickles (fried pickles) and a pint of beer on a wooden pub table

And then the food! Not just a textbook selection of weird and wonderful crisps (Grouse and Whinberry, anyone?), but also rolls at the bar and freshly cooked snacks from the kitchen out back, essentially pub tapas without any of the pretension that phrase might suggest, something to keep you going but nothing to fill you up, including “frickles” – fried pickles that might just be the perfect accompaniment to a pint.

And then there’s the people. The staff are friendly, helpful, well-informed but not overbearing. The patrons are mixed – not always a given in a place like this. Old boys, solo drinkers, families, a good balance of male and female It is not overrun by Beer Tourists (apart from, of course, myself) and all the better for it. This is somewhere that is lived in, frequented, nurtured, supported, a real living pub rather than an exhibit of pub-ness.

There’s even a display above the door showing the next train times from Tamworth, for if you decide that perhaps its a little too hasty to start a new life here and that you better get home at some point.

One of the greats.

4 Comments

May 29, 2026

Pub Thoughts #12 (The King Billy, Nottingham)

The exterior of the King Billy pub. A sign hangs off the wall with a picture of a goat.

The World’s Greatest Pub Blogger, RetiredMartin, will occasionally consider a pub one of his Top 100. This place, The King Billy, is one of them. And rightly so. It is unlikely I will ever visit as many pubs as Martin, and will certainly never reach his levels of Pub Expertise, but this pub is definitely in my top 100 too. And probably quite high in that list too. It’s a magical pub.

Sometimes you enter a pub and right away know that it just works. It is cosy, almost a little too cosy for comfort, but that gives it this immediate sense of hubbub and homeliness and place. There are different spaces, each with a slightly different feel, yet all part of a whole.

A row of empty chairs in a pub, lined up against a wall. There are old pictures of landscapes on the wall. In the distance is a strange doll with a little stuffed bear

There’s a bar in the middle that feels a little like a cockpit, serving each space and orchestrating the pub-ness, driving it even, a centrifugal force that influences the whole interior, that doesn’t just hand out the drinks but sets the tone, the feel, the fun.

All good pubs feel like someone’s living room. A public house, public home. The King Billy feels like the living room of someone’s particularly barmy aunt, and I mean that as the highest praise. The walls are covered in old paintings. Toby jugs line a wall. Knick knacks abound. A framed advert of a local visit from Su Pollard. A slightly creepy doll training a stuffed bear. A tartan carpet, a means of ensuring that even the floor isn’t plain. Detail, texture, stuff, everywhere.

A framed advert announcing Su Pollard is making an appearance at Sneinton Market. It looks quite old.

The Cup Final is on but there is enough entertainment in just scanning the walls. You can look around and piece together a whole history.

A man drinks from a pewter jug, another good sign. I love pubs where the regulars have their own receptacles. There’s scattered chat about the game, differences of opinion sportingly accepted. A man yells “Get that flag up!” Couples chat with half an eye on the telly. A man on his own spreads out a set of postcards on his table, takes a photo of them. Soon it’s half-time.

There’s a tremendous selection of cask and keg, and a just as good a selection of snacks. Life is good with a well-kept pint and a packet of honey mustard pretzel pieces. It’s a good place to stop after wandering around Nottingham’s trendy Sneinton Market. Catch your breath. Plan your next move.

Like all good pubs you can make it whatever you want it to be, but I think it is probably at its best with a quick pint on your own on a Saturday afternoon, with a bit of people-watching, a bit of football-watching and a bit of pub-watching.

Top 100, easily.

2 Comments

March 20, 2026

Pub Thoughts #8 (Pubs as homes from home, and the Bird and Barrel)

A pint of beer on a beermat on a wooden table. The glass says "Bexley Brewery Est. 2014" and has a silhouette of a parakeet

I’ve been thinking a bit about pubs as second homes, surrogate homes – public houses as public homes. That sometimes you are away and need to sit somewhere familiar, homely, rather than a sterile hotel room. That sometimes you might be at work and need a break, somewhere to ground yourself, a refuge, an escape – a lunchtime pint or somewhere to decompress on your way home.

These aren’t necessarily places you frequent, some of these places you might only visit once. But there is something about being able to read the language of a pub, to know if it is the right kind of place for what you need. Will it be welcoming or pleasantly diffident? Do you want company or anonymity? A comfy corner to slouch into or a sturdy bar to hold you up?

And then there are the pubs that you go to regularly, that really feel like a home from home. The places that offer a familiar setting, familiar faces, a familiar welcome. A place that reminds you that you have a place in the world, that you are part of a community, that there is something wider out there than the individual. There is such a thing as society.

The Bird and Barrel is that pub for me. As much as I don’t go in there as often as I might like to, when I really need a home from home, a refuge, an escape or just the right kind of pub for a sit-down and a decent pint it is the place I head.

On first appearances it is your typical shopfront single-roomed micropub, but the single room then leads through to a lovely secluded garden and a second room out back for events, hire or just overspill on busy days.

It is run by the family behind Bexley Brewery and that family feel permeates everything they do. There is nothing impersonal about it and you can really tell that their beer and their pub are a reflection of their whole family – a real mix of perspectives pulling together to produce something distinctive, honest and, well, good.

The pub has a mix of beer, both from Bexley Brewery and elsewhere. You might find yourself talking to the head brewer as he pours you a brand-new beer, or you might end up drinking something unusual from the rest of the UK, or on occasion the rest of the world. You’re essentially getting a brewery taproom and a well-curated craft pub in one.

The pub also feels tailormade for the area – a local pub for local people in a positive sense. The feel of the place reflects the community it serves. There are posters for art classes held here, quiz nights too. It’s not just about the beer, that as much as that is clearly important to them it feels like the place is more about fostering a space that gets people out of the house and brings them together. We need these kinds of venues more than ever.

Generally you’ll find a circle of regulars sat around near the bar, but it is a welcoming group – anyone can join the conversation as it pinballs between such subjects as engineering conundrums, 70s pop music, local roadworks to avoid, and the state of Charlton Athletic Football Club. All your classic pub chat subjects, I think.

But even in what is a pretty small space there are nooks to hide away in and read a book, or have a smaller conversation. Like all good pubs there is a balance between public and private space.

The pub has table service and it works perfectly in this context. The wider conversation can flow unabated. The solo drinker doesn’t have to fight their way to the bar and risk losing their spot. But beyond that it helps encourage a much warmer and deeper welcome from staff to customers. Everyone gets greeted as they come in and with each order comes a little chat, a little check that everything is OK. That kind of bond doesn’t just happen in pubs where people line the bar. And, if anything, when done properly, table service enables a significantly more personal and bespoke experience. It doesn’t take long to feel a part of the place, to feel valued, appreciated, understood. To be part of the gang.

Pubs are a pretty personal thing. What works for one person doesn’t work for another, obviously. But feelings around pubs are also bound up in a whole load of emotions and attachments – these are buildings full of memories, places we have come to know intimately, where we know what they are like on a Sunday lunchtime or a Friday night, or when one person is working there compared to another, where we know the individuals who go there but also the kinds of people who go there.

And I think that’s why pubs can be so valuable on a human level. They are a way to tap into those memories, but to also make new ones. A way of feeling like you can be part of a community, to know that people are diverse in background, thought and action, and that spending time with them is no bad thing. Places like the Bird and Barrel aren’t just pubs, they are beacons of hope in a miserable world. A reminder that we still have fun, can enjoy the company of others, that there are places out there that will take care of us for a while.

Tag: writing