a frosty day

putney heath ... it's a braw bricht nicht the nicht

seasonally serendipitous

on saturday morning, i spent nearly an hour in malmesbury, the town where i grew up

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 !"

more weekend stuff

an pilgrimage to the shrine of ... the original kitchen goddess

ellen rose forward ... good with string ...

... and adam ... good with wood

the christmas carousel near hungerford bridge

they're back ... the carousel beneath hungerford bridge

nelson mandela at the royal festival hall

a skip at the back of the royal festival hall

keeping a look-out for the early worm

Fernando Fernán-Gómez RIP

http://film.guardian.co.uk/news/story/0,,2225476,00.html

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

http://www.todotango.com/spanish/biblioteca/partituras/partitura.asp?id=599#

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.

maybe it was the wrong kind of leaf

port and starboard, ennit ?

baby pwincess

winter again

DECEMBER STILLNESS


























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.

Siegfried Sassoon

miser's nocturne

insomniac's nocturne

catch a falling star ...