The next morning we set off down the same rutted farm track lined with the same wild flowers which were being tossed about by the same, though slightly gentler, wind. Everything looked and felt the same but… colours appeared a …
Speaking with Spirits (Act II: The Olive Tree)
With Neil Young ringing in the ears we glided down the other side of the pass and coasted towards the farm. Hidden by a broad leaf hedge only a small sign indicated the track leading into it. We turned left. …
Speaking with Spirits (Act I: A Tale Based on Fact and Friction)
Thursday night in the Bar Mundo, had become our spot for post Salsa/pre-weekend random discussions covering business administration, domestic chores, artistic projects, artistic anxiety, frustrations, humiliations, observations and anything else that comes to mind. We’d more or less finished the …
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This Too is Belgium
A few weeks ago we felt deserving of an extended break, plotted a course west, stocked up on wine and delicacies and headed for the Belgian coast on a steel grey Friday afternoon. We took the stopping train to the coast, which …
Strange Visitors
One unseasonably warm Sunday afternoon in October we were sitting in the garden. The tide in the aperitif was on the ebb pulling the eyelids down with it. Then, just as the hypnagogic state took hold, a strange motion blurred …
Apology Not Accepted
Generally speaking going to work on a Monday morning is a cheerless affair. When I commuted by train I use to play a game called “Spot the Smile” and as often as not scored a big fat goose egg. …
