making things clear …
Not unlike my life, I suppose. And it's the place you can come to find out stuff about me, should you be remotely curious. Maybe one day it will be made gorgeous (the page, not my life, ho hum).
You may find it as boring as I do, in which case I can only apologise, but some of it may at least help to explain the rest of the site.
Dai Lowe was born just outside Boston, Lincolnshire, half way through the Twentieth Century and early one October morning.
Five hours later, a woman leapt to her death from the 'Stump', the famous tower of St Botolph's — what had she seen?
Though not much into sport, he is stuck with a lifelong and doomladen affection for the Pilgrims, aka Boston United FC., despite moving to Nottingham at the age of two and even being photographed holding the European Cup when Forest won it, with his then wife (who scored one of the goals).
But he prefers Rugby Union and actually supports Walesland at international matches, despite no familial connections with the Land of Song (though he can 'sing' Hen Wlad fy Nhadau).
You can click here for a full CV, and a spoof one written by said ex-wife, which is really jolly amusing (he said, without a hint of bitterness). But, by way of a summary ...
Lived in various places in Nottingham, educated at West Bridgford School, then at Manchester Uni, where he scraped a Computer Science degree and did other studenty stuff.
Worked in Data Processing, Computer Programming, Software Engineering and then IT (these being all the same thing), in York, Warwick and That London (these being all different places).
Spent the Year 2000 in Cádiz, Spainland, learning to do websites, writing, but mainly sitting on a beach and in assorted bars. Wrote what would now be called a blog about it, but which is much more original and quirky than most things bearing that label.
Finally, and for reasons you don't want boring with here, moved up to Edinburgh in SNPland, tried to make it as writer, visual artist, cookery guru, lover, poet and performer.
[as Sam Beckett said, Try again. Fail again. Fail better.]
Among his attempts have been shows and parts of shows in galleries in South London, in Hampstead, on Dundas St in Edinburgh, and performances of poetry and standup in the Edinburgh Festival Fringe.
Details of some of these, as well as videos of performances and readings — hell, you name it, there's something like it to be found on the arts and the words pages. Just get ye back to the main index page and go from there.
He's even appeared in a pop video, as a psychologist, madder than the client.
After doing various odd jobs of an IT support and advice nature, he's got pretty good at helping the technophic or just plain stuck with all manner of technical and even household chores. Pop to the business side of the site to find out if he can help you with anything from setting up websites to clearing blocked drains.
But I ask you, would you buy a used computer from this man?
So how does he live, this unmitigated failure who is not even much good at self-deprecation, I hear you ask (rather verbosely)?
Well, mainly hand-to-mouth, mugging defenseless old ladies, and so forth. But you could help to change that, if you fancy being a 'crude-funding' patron of the arts.
It's probable that all this writing and painting and poeting is a desperate attempt to compensate for his inability to compose, sing or play an instrument. Because music is his first love, and it will be his last: music of the future, and, in a very real sense, music of the past.
His main men are Ludwig van Beethoven and Ralph Vaughan Williams but anything from Hildy von Bingen to Karlheinz Stockhausen is likely to float his musical boat.
He's no fan of folk, singer songwriters or any third rate poetry sung to a second-rate tune strummed on an acoustic guitar, an instrument that would (were there a god) be confined to the classical repertoire or his belovéd flamenco.
But in all other areas of music he is more drawn to the left-field, the edgy or the plain eccentric, having an abiding fondness to maverick fruitcakes from Syd Barratt to William Havergal Brian, who famously said, "I'm not going to die: I've just bought a new pair of trousers!"
Equally fond of jazz, blues, and what he superciliously refers to as 'kids' music', on reaching his half-century, he drew up a list of his fifty favourite tracks; he's added five more each semidecade, but can't remember what they were.
Despite being a dabbler in all things but an expert in none, he can be an opinionated sod, who waffles on in bars and coffee shops on a wide range of subjects.
While rarely agreeing with his point of view, many have praised his analyses and ability to express them on social media or the comments sections of press websites.
He even commits these to blogs or his own "pontification" pages. But he can only be bothered rather rarely. So if, by derivation, pontification is bridge building, and if, as James Joyce tells us, a pier is a disappointed bridge, you could click here to become a dissapointed surfer.
He's all over the interweb like a nasty rash. He 'tweets what he eats' @dailowe, and tweets occasional poems and other stuff on his Parodies Lost account.
There are other blogs lurking around. He was attempting a sporadic, deconstructed farewell tour of the UK, marked out in cappuccinos, and writing about it under the title, Chasing the Frothy Bubbles, but it seems to have fizzled out.
He does write most Wednesdays on his @Grieve-not Lake pages. He's on Instagram (mainly 'art' stuff) @thedailowe and even Weibo and Wechat for our Chinese chums.
Oh yes, you can also see him doing his stuff with or preferably without his little ukulele in his hand, on YouTube. Check out the C14 Welsh pome translation for a good laugh (no, honestly).
And if, after all that, you still wish to contact him, you can send an email
you call that clear ???