Moth on Wall

A Poem

The Hug

It was your birthday, we had drunk and dined
Half of the night with our old friend
Who'd showed us in the end
To a bed I reached in one drunk stride.
Already I lay snug,
And drowsy with the wine dozed on one side.

I dozed, I slept. My sleep broke on a hug,
Suddenly, from behind,
In which the full lengths of our bodies pressed:
Your instep to my heel,
My shoulder-blades against your chest.
It was not sex, but I could feel
The whole strength of your body set,
Or braced, to mine,
And locking me to you
As if we were still twenty-two
When our grand passion had not yet
Become familial.
My quick sleep had deleted all
Of intervening time and place.
I only knew
The stay of your secure firm dry embrace.

Thom Gunn

Juddging

I recently discovered Donald Judd. I would like to visit his pad in Texas.

Hook, line and sinker

Some pretty porcelain in Summerhall

Foraging

Went to a delightful and insightful 'art' the other night.

Composed by 3 men from down in England somewhere; they had come to Scotland with a few vegetables from an allotment and with these objects, and others foraged in and around Edinburgh, they began a process of bartering for food.

The result was two delicious soups, salads and a very potent wild raspberry vodka concoction.

There was also an aray of edible plants.

Sorrel was my favourite - it tasted like raspberries.

I'm looking forward to growing vegetables in te allotment in Dundee soon.

I enjoy pudding.

 Or as some Americans may insist 'Dessert'

 

This is my lovingly crafted Tira-mi-su with amaretto. 

It went down very well.

Cakes; even better shared.

Local Lochs

I like water.
I like Scottish Water.