Thursday, April 16, 2009

Shell sound, that's what a squill is and no porpoises.

1. All week my father has been blowing on winkle shells to make them whistle

2. My aunt shows me tight-curled squills -- tiny fists that have squeezed themselves blue -- hiding in the rough clifftop grass.

3. There are no porpoises to be seen, but there is the wind thrumming on the cables of the coastguard's radio mast; and a white pony that gravely lips my open hands.

The real end of Christmas, multitasking and life before.

1. We eat the last of the Christmas treats with our coffee -- a few stray stollen bites from Lidl. 2. While listening to a work webinar, I f...