Friday, June 18, 2010
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
He would take me to The Mixing Pot.
All the waiters used to look.
He was a bit of a personality.
I went back today, by chance, for lunch.
I sat alone in the courtyard.
Raw beef, ink pasta, black olives.
One glass of champagne.
The waiter looked.
And filled up the water glass.
I had black coffee.
The waiter bought biscuits for my son, and wrapped them at the table.
Nobody knew my lover.
We shook hands.
After lunch I visited my friend.
I was afraid to ask her about him.
I did ask.
She said he was playing chess with her partner. As we spoke.
And that he was married.
It was sweet.
Friday, June 4, 2010
- Keep it neat - scribbling, spiraling, scratching, shrinking and swelling are spooky.
- However fondly you mean it, don't insult your hearts desire - back in the day, a "masher" was someone thought to be effete, work shy, idle, and faux-aristocratic. Labeling rarely leads to love. In my unfortunate experience, it leads to bar brawls.
- Don't try to hide your name, your age or your gender. It's all obvious really. Isn't it.
- If he wasn't at the dance and you were at the dance, and he knew you were at the dance, odds are he didn't want to see you.
- Watch the punctuation. All those full stops protest a certainty and undercut it at the same time. Too many exclamation marks invoke a sense of panic in any reader!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The postcard has no stamp, no address and no postmark. Maybe it was hand delivered. I secretly hope it was scrawled and never sent and that the author, spruced up and gorgeous, just happened to be at the same social occasion as Willy The Masher, and that Willy The Masher stopped mashing for a bit and asked the author to dance.
Me? I'm off on another track, thanks to that fibre optic internet connection. The mention of Boosey School could date the postcard sometime between 1887 and 1918. Unless the school was closed, and derelict, and our author was planning a private rendezvous in a quiet spot. Oh dear.