back in harness, you have to chase after that distant flash of anything’s possible on waking, cling to it as the storm gloom swirls about the house and the ancient debts and challenges bob up from deep mind, bristling, rusting sea mines grey as the waves. I stay cheery, sip my coffee, got it down to 70 cents in Ribeira Quente, growling like a local salt, 40p for a double shot at the Grange. It keeps me jangling as I slip between the raindrops.
