to work. It tempts the eye and a longing to be out there. I sit and look at the sunflowers and think maybe I should have a dog, a dog that begs walks and then pays for the beer in the valley-crease boozer, leads me tramping away through the flower fields. All those millions of upturned, sun-blanched sunflowers to border the curling roads out at Trafalgar. Eyes staring fifty miles instead of the five inches to this screen. But there’s no dog and no tramping, no fifty miles, just me and the M&S sunflowers on my work table and Wes Montgomery playing D-Natural Blues. But that aint bad and it’s not too late for another cup of the tropic nectar. Five paces away.
