It's something quite harsh and coarse. It reeks. It has a kind of sexual urgency to it. And it unsettles me, as it always does. I feel a ... what? A restlessness.
far-off nearby land
insinuating itself so slyly
vulgarsmell
as light and insubstantial as soapbubbles
memory lane vs amnesia avenue
Everything is as it was, (...) and everything has changed
entirelymonochrome
old black-and-white snaps
socially colour coded for ease of reference
yellow and black are the colours of the right local preparatory school
green and black are the colours of the wrong school
He was the officer corps in our two-man army. I was the other ranks - and grateful to be so.
for ever making perfection yet more perfect
another amazing ornament of the Hayward family
glowed with a kind of sacred light, like a saint
silverframe / silver cups / silver brooch
His very absence was a kind of presence
Thankyou for having me
soft clinking of lemon barley
"My mother" he said reflectively, almost regretfully, "is a German spy."
admiring jealousy
LOGBOOK - SECRIT I have private reservations about the spelling but keep them to myself, as i do all the other small occasional reservations i have about his authority.
lifeless clipped grey hair and grimly ironic smile
grey tailcoat
air-force blue / still boyish
we work to penetrate the secrets of the present and dismantle their future
the loyalsquire and sword-bearer that a hero requires
he's in some mysterious way their creator
he uttered the words, and the words became so. He told the story, and the story came to life.
it both is and is not the sacredbayonet, just as the wafer and the wine both are and are not the body and blood of a being who both is and is not a God
he looks like hisfather
Go home if you're bored, old bean
blue uniform flecked with pink by the soft pink snowfall
worshipping faces
It's a ghost story
two brown eyes and a big mockingsmile
everything about her is soft and girlish
Barbara Berrill's coming back. But its not her. It's Keiths mother