Monday, December 31, 2007
Sunday, December 30, 2007
The header to the article on page 16 reads, "Novel thoughts ... A way out of narcissism ?"
She lays out some careful and very interesting arguments about the evolving scope of the novel and it's subject matter.
But the flyer on the cover simply reads "No more sex in novels, please" , which was unfair to both the author and this reader, I think.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
one hundred and twenty years ago ... Henri Marie Raymond de Toulouse-Lautrec Monfa drew this lyrical portrait of Vincent van Gogh
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
the loved one and i were talking about paris, which i hardly know ... and i remembered how i once told some jazz-loving friends that i'd been lost one night many years ago, on my first visit to the city, in the seemingly endless curved corridors of the meridien hotel in the north of paris
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Monday, December 17, 2007
before travelling on, having whizzed around and been lucky enough to see several old friends, i went to meet the loved one who was bargain hunting in oxfam
as i placed my hand upon the shop door, i caught sight of this book in the window
it was expensive ... but irresistible
we journeyed on to wales and upon entering my aunt's house that afternoon, found this dvd perched on top of a table besides her new telly
i explained the co-incidence to her and she replied, "i've just acquired a second copy of it, so you can keep this if you like !"
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Friday, December 14, 2007
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
if you have never seen it, then it is never too late to watch "the spirit of the beehive"
it is said that his favourite tango, caminito, was played at the cremation
Little path that time has erased,
That one day saw us pass by together,
I have come for the last time,
I have come to tell you my woes.
Little path, you were then,
embroidered in clover and flowering reeds,
a shadow you will soon be,
a shadow the same as myself.
Since she left I live in sadness,
little road my friend, I'm leaving also.
Since she left she never returned,
I'll follow her steps, little path, goodbye.
Little path which every afternoon
I happily travelled singing of my love
don't tell her if she passes through again
that my tears watered your tracks.
Little path covered with thistle,
the hand of time erased your tracks.
I would like to fall beside you
and let time kill us both.
Monday, December 10, 2007
December stillness, teach me through your trees
That loom along the west, one with the land,
The veiled evangel of your mysteries.
While nightfall, sad and spacious, on the down
Deepens, and dusk imbues me where I stand,
With grave diminishings of green and brown,
Speak roofless Nature, your instinctive words;
And let me learn your secret from the sky,
Following a flock of steadfast journeying birds
In lone remote migration beating by.
December stillness, crossed by twilight roads,
Teach me to travel far and bear my loads.
Sunday, December 09, 2007
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Saturday, December 01, 2007
the perimeter wall of the power station has a crack which is moving, so a surveyor has left this interesting guage
this building appears to be unused now, except by these sleeping beauties
a phenomenal amount of crushed stone, gravel and concrete is processed beside the river at nine elms for distribution across the city