There and back
When I turn up at his Greenlane bungalow, Nathan Haines is making the most of the early winter sun by hanging out the washing.
We adjourn to the dappled light of the living room, where he reveals himself to be a turbulent conversationalist. His thoughts turn into sentences that dart around like a saxophone interrogating the nooks and eddies of a solo, but can also riff along on an extended narrative, or surprise with pre-determined structure. He’s always in control, and today, has got a lot to say, even if he hasn’t quite got the voice to say it with.
We choose to meet in the quiet of his home, because the nine-hour operation to remove a large tumour from his throat in December 2017 has reduced the sound of his vocal chords to a soft, mentholated
