and the rain falls hard on a humdrum town.

Peculiar, isn’t it, when you know you’ll be able to pinpoint a certain day, moment or decision for the rest of your life? Remember what you were listening to/what you were wearing/what you ate/how you felt. For me, although today passed fairly averagely in most ways, I also know it’s going down in my history, for one small reason or another. Shame I didn’t find an appropriate moment to crack open some fizz, though my wonderful new headphones are making for pretty good company instead. The fizz can wait for another day. Meanwhile, here’s a few recent pictures from my phone. You won’t be surprised to see Kate, some strong German beer, and frankly my favourite magazine cover ever.

literature, photography

‘Suppose I don’t go to Southampton, and come into town
this afternoon?’

‘No – I don’t think this afternoon.’

‘Very well.’

‘It’s impossible this afternoon. Various -‘

We talked like that for a while, and then abruptly we
weren’t talking any longer. I don’t know which of us hung up
with a sharp click, but I know I didn’t care. I couldn’t have
talked to her across a tea-table that day if I never talked to her
again in this world.

I called Gatsby’s house a few minutes later, but the line was
busy. I tried four times; finally an exasperated central told me
the wire was being kept open for a long distance from Detroit.
Taking out my time-table, I drew a small circle around the
three-fifty train. Then I leaned back in my chair and tried to