...then the taxi ran over the Ray-Bans

Seafood is both fun and risky, that interesting tension between the succulent meat, texture and taste and sauce and all the mysterious ingredients coming up against the inner workings of your body, unknown, unseen and all with an added dash of fine wine (house wine generally), mix it with good conversation and the ambiance, amour and ambivalence of just dining out in the wider world. Along some stormy coast we watch the lights through safe windows and allow ourselves to be sucked into the warm restaurant room. In the beginning it seems like it should never end, private pleasure with no consequences or route into the future. This is forever now.

There on show are the families, the romantic couples, the old in-laws being taken out, the lesbian pair winning the meat raffle, loud voices, steaming plates and surprise treats and muzak and us. The recognition factor, the people you know, the strings of knowledge and attachments, the common connections, stuff from the past you've forgotten and the "oh, I saw that they did that on Facebook" bit that inevitably comes up now and the baby based tales  with all their relentless growing and behaviour and pressure, all like they were new and fresh and different (which they are every time in their own way). 

On the waiting room table red electric guitars are for sale, violins and peculiar items washed ashore from local history and then placed on the wall as if to explain how we all came to be here. My evening ends with Irish Coffee, a tradition I've invented for myself but never quite adhered to. Perhaps I'm trying to say something about who I might be, where I might come from or be going but I really don't know.  It nicely fills the awkward "anything else?" gap. Meals and deals and after it all I remain steady on my feet and home, perpetually puzzled but satisfied... then the taxi runs over the Ray-Bans, the friendly driver completely unaware and heading for his next pickup, not the way every evening ends. We stand in the dark, out side in our pyjamas and bare feet looking for the lost lens, as if it finding it would make any difference. 

The new roof in detail.

This morning I braved the gales and the wobbles in the scaffolding and headed up to highest level. There now is a solid place in space where no solid space existed before, nor will again, so I'm kind of hovering in that spot and taking in and recording the view for posterity and just liking the feeling of being up there.