Random thoughts and ramblings on no particular theme.
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June feels more like November. I’m drenched after walking the dog and to make matters worse I have a hairdressers appointment. Anyone that knows me will understand this last point. Getting me into a salon is no easy matter. Getting me into a salon when I’m bedraggled and battered and all scruffed up should be
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Sunday afternoon and the sky is overcast and threatening. July, and the rain is going to pour again for yet another day. But I’m restless. All this weather imposed containment, in the middle of summer, makes me jittery. To hell with the elements. I need to get out. I need to run. Anyone who runs
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I love the way nature can catch you by suprise and force you to stop and take it in. These patterns in the snow, caused by the wind, fascinated me the moment I saw them. This photo is in The Guardian as part of the World Forum On Enterprise And The Environment exhibition at Oxford
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She only ever plays a few notes. The sounds so small and weak you have to stop and concentrate to hear them. But most people simply walk on by. Amid the hubub of the street, her music goes unheard, drowned out by the incessant din of life. Sometimes you’ll catch a passerby throwing a glance
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I’m peddling along the Prinsengracht, late in the afternoon. Dawdling really, because it’s a go slow kind of day, because it’s warm and the trees are green and the tourists are out and about again, mulling around outside the Anne Frank House, and not looking where they’re going. Which always makes me laugh for some
