We searched, but failed to find
My father's old and tinted welding glass
That deep-hued slab which warded off actinic flares
In days now passed.
The Somerset clouds came then, a shield
To aid our task.
Me: "Listen, the birds are singing. It's a second dawn chorus!"
Clare; "I can't hear anything .."
High-frequency hearing loss - such a filter against Nature.
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To descend even deeper into bathos, I sent my Passport renewal application off this morning post-eclipse. This involved an encounter with an authoritarian photo booth at the Post Office. Here's the result.
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| The author - not about to be incarcerated, I hasten to add! |
I have to say that this doesn't correspond to my self-image, the 'inner me' at all. Why doesn't my inner 'David' manifest itself?
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| Michelangelo rather improves on the photo booth ... |
Maybe it's the hair?
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Finally, this little nostalgia piece from a pre-Christmas visit to France in December 2012. A left bank bistro in the Parisian night ...
Some of us ate frogs' legs (taste a little like chicken - isn't that what you're meant to say?)
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Finally, this little nostalgia piece from a pre-Christmas visit to France in December 2012. A left bank bistro in the Parisian night ...
Some of us ate frogs' legs (taste a little like chicken - isn't that what you're meant to say?)
