Last night we sat around the table with my oldest friends.
Actually, I do have older friends, but these particular ones have known me the longest.
Chemoulah lamb and blackberry pavlova, just what we needed, more food. Buckets of South African red wine soon loosened the tongue, and it wasn’t long before vino veritas ping ponged back and forth. Nothing escaped them. They laugh in the face of my paintings and sculptures and textiles. Their world is crisp lines and gardenia paint, bleached floors and chrome switches. Nothing escaped them, nope, not even my clothes, I thought it might be time to order their cab when she came down in a suit of mine circa 1988. It was hanging on the landing in its full shoulder padded glory.
Humph, all grist to Eli’s mill, he’d like to see the lot on Ebay.