It is a matter of recognition, of something older. Perhaps cliff edges. Bridges frighten me. I feel a strong urge to jump.





I object to over priced rubbish blended coffee sold at a high street near you!

Give me Arabica – Kenya AA or Ethiopian Harrar preferred.

On the last coffee –¬† Harrar – no wonder Arthur Rimbaud lingered so long in Harrar. I have my New Directions 1961 copy of A Season in Hell in front of me.