Discoveries -

The pencil marks are wearing thin on the blue paper – ready to light? I cannot mourn the passing of Augusto Pinochet, nor should anyone. Those that died before him as a result of his orders are still howling in limbo at the lack of justice forthcoming in their name (including the missed opportunity Jack Straw had to extradite him to Spain – foolish appeasement – they manage to get away with it every time these Fascists: how come?) and now he has finally escaped trial – that is a sadness we should all be aware of –

the sun attempts to shed it’s light through the tunnels and dank cellars of Chile, hunting out the truth if it can -

let me dream instead: replicate some Jacobean parlour – the semi-grand furniture, the hearth-tinted red wine (seeing the flames through the liquid), the stained tablecloth with the crumbs of three courses still residual, the foppish hair and louche attitudes of writers and libertine ne’er do wells – a testy marriage of art, the past and the witty present - Jeffries and James devouring cakes and pomegranate molasses now; awaiting the impromptu cabaret provided by sons and daughters of the hostel owner – and still warm by cold morning, the London wind in the chimney, poor teeth aching and fit to fall out – and the toast is to liberty and the downfall of the tyrannical forefathers (even as the East sees a new one rise) -