This post is number 42 in a series.

Last night’s storm could have woken the dead. We risked going out because it had been a while since the previous excursion, and walked the streets with lightning fizzing all around and thunder above our heads. Dry lightning, I was hoping. But no, and when the...

This post is number 41 in a series.

Blue Girl breaks new ground by embedding a video in a 50 x 100 x 50 post. Just don’t watch it, unless you like being manipulated into an eye-blinking, lump-throated slump. I like to think that my own paltry genre-extension -- doubling up on words after I’d m...

This post is numbers 39 & 40 in a series.

”It’s terrible. It’s not even good.”

“Well you can just go fuck yourself.”
“I love that woman, I just can’t help it.”

“I’m deleting this. You’re OK with that?”

“You don’t need more wine. You need a sausage.”

“Dude, what did you just throw at me?...

This post is number 38 in a series.

I had seen one or two, but that’s no summer. This evening on the terrace, fresh from sticking stolen Bruggmansia cuttings in some soil, I sat back and watched a dozen or more swallows shrieking as they hawked beneath a mottled blue-gray sky. It’s odd how the...

This post is number XX in a series.

I didn’t think I would be, but I’m really rather peeved by the way my WordPress update worked out. And not just WordPress. There seems to be an obsession with making things more complicated -- possibly just for the sake of it -- rather than with making them wo...