Okay, the proverbial blank page and the corresponding act of faith. And, because this isn't a blank page but a connection to a server somewhere, the regular compulsion to hit the 'Save to Drafts' tab. Very high tide last night, the end of the quay visible through the cafe window, plus one of the the red lights and one of the blue lights that have been strung along the edge of the harbour-edge road. Full moon two nights ago, last night's tide doing whatever it does to the sound and the feel of the air: very closed-in, very silent behind the lapping of the waves. The shimmer of the water.
And a conversation about times past. Who we are now, talking about who we were. Memories of flats, cars, jobs - memories of meetings and a journey round Scotland. People. How we change and how we never change. A taste made out of samphire and potato pleasantly but definitely incompatible with the turbot. Mussels and linguini. The wine served by a woman last seen as a teenage girl just home from school. And the modern gadget for phoning in credit-card details - only capable of making its connection if held towards the ceiling half-way across the room.
Out, at the end, into the cool night.
And a conversation about times past. Who we are now, talking about who we were. Memories of flats, cars, jobs - memories of meetings and a journey round Scotland. People. How we change and how we never change. A taste made out of samphire and potato pleasantly but definitely incompatible with the turbot. Mussels and linguini. The wine served by a woman last seen as a teenage girl just home from school. And the modern gadget for phoning in credit-card details - only capable of making its connection if held towards the ceiling half-way across the room.
Out, at the end, into the cool night.