My friend spreads her branches
all the way from Aberdeen
down the wind to me.
A tree with hands like rafts
and a heart to slice for stepping stones;
she is my wand.
We are driving music, rock legends
for grown-up women
and elegant drunks.
Stages of our growth are evident
in albums, in sequences, in
The future flashes images of dreams
and rings around trunks till
zimmers surround us.
January 2007 was cold; when we stepped off the plane heat engulfed us and the thought of a week under a strange hot sun raised our spirits. Spirits flew under the power of a plastic wristband – gently pickled but never actually drunk could describe most evenings though there was one that went as far as bouncing on beds and moving sun-beds on the terrace. Old age lends an elegance to behaviour but mostly experience brings boredom and a sense of been there done that.