Monthly Archives: May 2012

Miles per gallon

‘Trouble with taking this car out,’ declared a large man with a strong West Yorkshire accent, ‘is that it’s an hour on the road and two hours to clean.’ I have never before participated in a classic car rally. However, … Continue reading

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We should have been together

We should have been together, here, where the water is not natural, where there is a dark pool on the beach. A tank of black water which absorbs light, even in the onslaught of white crests, which break the pebbles … Continue reading

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The tough life

I have just returned from a week in the jasmine-scented surroundings of Fornells Bay, Minorca, with most activity revolving around the sea. I spent my days wobbling and scudding across it on a windsurf board, and my evenings dining on … Continue reading

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Tit for tat

Christian, my brother, is currently working as an artist-in-residence at a small boarding school in Essex. He lives an implausible existence in a flat above the boys’ boarding house, sparingly furnished from local secondhand shops and centred around my dad’s … Continue reading

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The King of the High Chaparral

Shuffling brushes like a clenched mikado, mixing the ingredients for paint; earth and iris, and horse-piss, spring water, whiskey, potash and salt, pestled stamens like virgin’s sleep, and arsenic for old time’s sake. The painter lines up the motley pack … Continue reading

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Before they end up on a piece of string

Has anyone else been enjoying the sight of horse chestnut trees in full flower lately? A few years ago, during a period of unemployment, I volunteered for about five months doing conservation work with BTCV. Should you ever find yourself … Continue reading

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No sleeves and a cuckoo clock

One of my favourite items of clothing in this soggy but not particularly cold weather is a leather jerkin of the sort that British soldiers used to favour during the Second World War, picked up a little while back from … Continue reading

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The Road (Kenfig Pools)

We shall tramp about, with our eyes on small traps of water in the track. His eyes will be mine, even the styes that crowd the lid, and the black lines like burnt cities when he squints. They will be … Continue reading

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