When reading Kevin Ireland's 2021 collection of new poems Just Like That, it was easy to imagine a mischievous twinkle in the author's eye as he alighted on phrase or line which had a crafty glissando between meaning and wit.

Not so much with this slim, dense and thoughtful third volume of his memoirs which explores memories, the passage of time, old friendships with some long gone, and still moments in a busy life.

Now an astute and insightful 89-year old, the poet, novelist and non-fiction writer – who acknowledges ‘the final reserves of my time and energy must soon be running out’ – set himself a tangential approach to these 30 short chapters: to simply sit every day for a month and write whatever dominant memories came into the foreground of consciousness.

And so a flash of memory explored may be of rural life during the war where Hamilton was a distant city to be visited once a month, and kids rode to school on horseback in all weathers. Or of empathetic portraits of friends, not blind to their faults or his own, such as Maurice Shadbolt, Peter Bland, Karl Stead, Jim Baxter and a truly moving, beautifully crafted reminiscence about an Irish neighbour in London half a century ago.

There is pathos and humour here: recollections of a wedding and a funeral which swim up may be well-polished but are hilarious and pointed. And the writer's mind can wander from Boy Scouts to Prince Philip II of Spain.

So here on a daily basis are anecdotes, yarns, philosophical musings and a cast of characters pleasantly encountered or endured. There is also his pleasure taken in fishing and the birds in the back garden's fruit trees . . . as the pandemic lurks outside the door.

“I am forever reminded of a remark of Blaise Pascal's to the effect that we sometimes can't help thinking of a friend's death as a desertion.

“One old friend in London, whom I know of so far, has even contrived to die of Covid-19 – which I class as not merely a desertion but a wilful display of crass incaution.

“The only way not to end up stamping a foot and shaking a fist at the heavens, in justified fury at wayward, cherished renegades, is to join them in the glorious echoes of their laughter.”

There is laughter, wine, friendship, long lunches and screwed-up notes in the writer's wastepaper basket woven through these digressive pages where he also celebrates a too-brief foray into oil painting at 70 (the cover art is a self-portrait), family and marriage. Here too are 13 of the poems from Just Like That given context.

A tip: don't rush through these days of Ireland's month because the conceit does become a little strained as he settles down at his desk once more. Slow down to enjoy the memories and digressions as he does.

Ireland's understated, easy familiarity is at the heart of this measured and very engaging memoir as he gently reminds us lives are not necessarily made up of grand events or consequential situations.

Rather, life is shaped by an accumulation of small, sometimes half-forgotten incidents, friendships fleeting or enduring, unpredictable randomness and sometimes time spent doing nothing.

As he notes in the recent poem, An Unforgettable Day, (ironically one distinguished by its sheer ordinariness): “In a world of endless possibilities/it is amazing/what doesn't happen”.

Reviewed by Graham Reid