"I wonder where the iceberg is?"

I suppose it's not really a good thing to blog when you've had a drink, but I've actually only had a couple of glasses of white wine, (although there was the pint at the Crown and Sceptre earlier as I sat by the open log fire, pen in hand and wrote more of my latest short story ). Here I am in my study, glass of wine to hand and the film score to Titanic (woah!! credibility out the window there!) playing and a multitude of thoughts of what to write vying for supremecy. Paris? Rome? Red jumpers? Journeys for Jesus? Hemingway? There's a list as long as your arm of themes, subjects and titles, all waiting for the nod to leap onto the etherial page and become something more than they were and so much less than they truly are. Ha! Confucisous eat your heart out! So, maybe I'll just toy with the idea of writing anything of significance and simply leave it at the vague meaningless ramblings of a spur of the moment nine o'clock in the evening fancy. But you know, despite the sentimentality and schmultz, (is that how you spell it?) the whole Titanic thing is moving. Seeing the original footage of people waving goodbye, the ticker tape and hype, the hopes and expectations, class and position and the grand gesture and solid belief in the supremecy of technology and the 'modern age'; well, it makes you wonder. And as the middle east burns and  the West waits, I wonder where the iceberg is? (Oh no; too serious?)

As the dulcet tones of Roy Ebden would utter at the end of his radio show: "If you have been, thanks for listeneing."

The Girl in the Red Jumper: episode two: ‘The Beginning’

Travelling back from Cheltenham Spa on a delayed Cross Country train reminds me that I promised part two of the girl in the red jumper sooner than this, so I apologize at the outset for the delay; I distracted myself (not an unusual occurrence I’m afraid). Alas, I fear that for the tale to be told fully there will need to be a third and a fourth and maybe even a fifth episode so as not to burden you with lengthy tomes. Oh dear, even as I write that I wonder if the story warrants it, especially since I began at the ending, although the main thrust of the story isn’t actually the girl in the red jumper. Well; there it is. I feel that having begun, it would be churlish of me to stop at this point; I wouldn’t want to disappoint my avid reader now would I? So, on I go, trusting I’ll take you with me.

I travelled from East Looe to Totnes by train with, (let’s call him…Zack) to go and spend a Saturday with a friend of his, a girl, who I later discovered was an ex-girlfriend who had become one of those euphemistically entitled ‘Buddies with benefits’.

We spent the afternoon wandering the streets of Totnes and walking by the river, then passed an extremely pleasant time in the Barrel House where we ate organic food washed down with copious amounts of assorted glasses of liquid refreshment. Whilst there the aforementioned ‘Zack’ had a ‘moment’ with a woman; well, several moments actually, though they never spoke, he feeling, (quite rightly) that it wouldn’t be quite the thing to openly flirt whilst he was there visiting his ‘special’ friend.

The woman was, differently beautiful, with dark complexion and hair. Both in aspect and demeanour she had an air of sophistication and style as she sat reading the weekend supplements and sipping coffee. Meanwhile, I had had a ’moment’ or two of my own with the girl in the red jumper who I later saw in the park the following morning. Good grief this is becoming a book! All the advice (well, a couple of people anyway) points to short blogs and not too much text! Maybe I’d better stop there and start gain later; that’s a thought; I could do this in daily episodes and go back to the twice a week goal afterwards. Or, I could post an episode every other one; what do you think reader? Anyway, I’m sure that if you have any opinion on the matter you’ll duly let me know. So…

Later that night, as we jostled our way through a crowded bistro-bar, there she was, though I don’t know if she saw us. She was talking animatedly to a group of people at the bar and Zack and I gave each other a clandestine look and a cheeky smile of recognition as we took our seats at a table in the corner. And...there I'm afraid we have to leave it.

To be continued…(No that's not the girl in the red jumper, it's a woman buying bread in a Paris bakery-lovely window panel!)

As the delightfully dulcet tones of Roy Ebden would utter at the end of his radio show: “If you have been, thanks for listening.”