Category Archives: Sunday
Long summer days with rain pass slowly with the dullness of a nagging pain. Sixteen hours of twilight.The kitchen is unusually sombre. A bowl of ripe apricots is today’s sun.
The old ones are always the best and so it turned out to be with this elegant bottle of 1984 Chateau de Rayne-Vigneau Sauternes that I could no longer resist opening. One Christmas, some fifteen years ago, my cousin, who is also partial … Continue reading
There’s a narcotic, suffocating silence, like being deaf inside a reverberating bell, that heralds the occulting eyelids which, on occasion, accompany my efforts to read in front of a roaring fire on a wet Sunday afternoon. My eyelids are exhausted: … Continue reading
Another year has been added to the time that I have spent breathing the air of this world. I have reached a biblical point in the scribe’s view of our allotted time and so I am metaphorically putting fingers in … Continue reading
I took this picture some 10 years ago. It was a random moment; I was driving down a lane somewhere near our home….I can’t remember exactly where it was or I would be tempted to return there….when I saw these … Continue reading
As I stood, bent against the wind this beautiful morning, on the shoreline of the Anse d’Aiguillon, this remarkable place put me in mind of the opening passage of “Great Expectations”, sadly without the appearance of an unlikely benefactor…”the dark … Continue reading
The silence after the hubbub of Sunday lunch is like the white noise that fills the brain as a general anaesthetic takes effect. There’s a mixture of narcotic pleasure in the cushioned lushness of the collapse from consciousness, combined with … Continue reading