Of the Cumbrian tragedy

There's almost too much to say, and nothing that can be meaningful except respect for those in loss x

Big moment in a little courtyard

Before the show yesterday, my wanderings took me to the British Museum, oldest and dearest to my imagination.

I walked in, perused some glory and walked out again, perplexed, because it didn't touch me. Were the ideas too old, too known, or was it just the sunshine that called me outside? The front courtyard has been landscaped into likeness of a South African garden, with birds of paradise plants, and aloe trees...above all, cape daisies everywhere. I don't know what was wrong with me, I just stood in front of all these daisies and nearly cried like an idiot. Not because I was sad...I so wasn't. But it occurred to me that the view was worth everything in the museum.

I recall a time when my dreams of being a grown-up included thoughts of an Indiana Jones type adventuress finding treasures in the abyss, discovering legends of ancient times, lost cities from before the flood. Yesterday, I walked among the flowers blinking in sunlight, my only desire being for the garden to stretch out before me forever, for as long as I could walk.