Monday, June 23, 2008

On the wind, conveyance and wild mint.

1. In the station car park, the wind scutters a leafy willow branch across the ground, whirls the tarmac smell into our faces and whisks clouds into mares' tails high above us.

2. New car smell, a door that closes firmly behind me with almost no effort, and firm new car seats.

3. We walk up the track in the dust and the smell of wild mint comes and goes.

Follow Her, no birds and Burns Night.

1. I am intrigued by an article in The Guardian  about psychic phone lines, and then by the author's upcoming thriller about a toxic lif...