Sunday, August 31, 2008

My sunglasses, mushroom and the summer.

1. In all the chaos of moving, finding my sunglasses, on just about the first fine day in August, in the bottom of my rucksack.

2. Silently, not bothering anyone, a mushroom has pushed its scaled cap out of the soil under a fir tree by a busy stretch of pavement.

3. We sit outside in the warm evening shade with a jug of Pimm's and my writing buddy's new book of short stories.

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...