It was eight o'clock in the evening. Chotto-ma was still up - it being a weekend. D and I had poured ourselves some wine and Chet Baker was wafting around the house. That's when I noticed the light. From the window, the outside looked liked a giant Monet. The sun was sinking; its last pink light was bouncing off the river like shoals of salmon.
We took the bottle of wine, our glasses, the bowl of olives, put everything into a brown paper bag and went down to the river; Chotto-ma in her pyjamas. We cut across the Common, past the the cows, the tall grass licking our ankles, sticking to my jeans, and found a bench next to a boat called Susie Q. Everything was a pinkish-bronze: people on cycles, the Labrador chasing his ball, my toes, the tips of the grass. Dying embers of a day's end. This hallowed light makes such innocents of us all.
Now, before you rush headlong into your week, I'll leave you with a little more whimsy. With this music. Chet Baker, and cocktail clouds.
Have a wonderful week x