Wednesday, 9 March 2011
At Heathrow
The transit lodges of the soul, easily recognisable as a state of mind: that ageless yet limited hovering. Soul born in WH Smith, nurtured in Caffe Nero, the eye one big check-in board, the body a piece of luggage, then up up into the air, sub specie aeternetatis.
Conversation with Sarah Crown but so-so from my point of view, but maybe they'll splice and edit me into a genius.
Next time from India, with luck.
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1 comment:
Hello George, I've just had an email from your old friend Laszlo at Corvina. I'm pleased to say that he'll be putting my quote about goulash and bicycles on his Hungarian travel book cover. Pleased too say also that he picked it up in your blog's comments box.
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