June 30th: Whyteleafe. Old time London town: shadowed cobbled streets, high-rise (but Tudor). The buildings so high that the sky is a slot of scudding cloud. Heavy wooden doors, many panelled dusty windows. I am being chased by unseen forces; their boot falls echo off the walls. I push open a door and begin to … Continue reading dream diaries…67
the air stirs with rumour of the submarine halved in the harbour. brows furrow and palm-flattened charts appear. below the sheltered walls, an aria - an iron-throated chorister. archaic; rises, floats, fades, and disappears. (photo: nick reeves - south shields pier)
The hospital wards held a distinctive smell. Disinfectant and desperation and decay. In the tea room it was less so. In the tea room it smelled of biscuits. It smelled of apple pie and powdered custard. He was sat in the tea room. Everywhere he looked, people looked ill. Or sick with worry. A sort … Continue reading Fast & Slow Educations.
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