seemed pleasant, aye, lunch at the bird in hand,
all sunday lunch on monday,
i had the soup surrounded with bibelots,
winston churchill. kind ladies worried
about our welfare and nourishment.
i met pompidou, bridle paths, dark houses
in the north, arrived to slide the cobbles.
how many coats in your cloakroom sir, one hundred?
how many live here? five horses, and look at your menage a troi…
armed with directions, satellite, the navigator me,
we relied mostly on brain work, logic and a sense of humour,
isn’t it. grey roads, industry. we missed the viaduct, marked.
leaving home in mist, bala lake blue early, fired with red on return,
we tooks photographs. the magic carpet.