Ripping yarns, beautiful lies and a few home truths.
I am calmed.
Cool. 'There just isn't enough petrol in the wind.' As Old Salt would say.A very slow 'race'.
That's my kind of race.
Nice. There was a silky greyness to the surf today too. Bloody cold - but soft too.
Looks lovely. Beautiful reflections. The inlet here has been equally smooth - but without the boats.
I was swimming this morning (in Malta as you do) and watched a flotilla of sail boats heading out of the harbour for a Sunday on the Mediterranean. I wished I knew somebody.
They are always looking for crew on the day. It's probably the same all over the world. My advice Mr Hat would be to just rock up.
I'd read that pigeon book. I once wrote a story about a pigeon called Eric. He thought he could wing it onto Trafalgar Square, but Trafalgar Square like all the main central London sites was crowded and organised and blow-ins just weren't allowed. It was a coming of age sort of thing full of wondrous flight scenes and overviews of a still conquerable world.
Ciaran, that you wrote a story about a pigeon named Eric makes me like you very much.And what a great book Pigeon is! A friend compared it to the work of Norman Mailer in the tradition of great American non fiction narratives. Who woulda thunk it?Thanks to Janine, Michelle and Little Hat. Sorry, I've been offline for days but I appreciate your comments on the calm. Wasn't t beautiful.