Where the dilapidated alley, known in these parts as a twitton, meets the pavement, rain water has brought down a load of sand and gravel, which in turn has a eroded the tarmac. The result, when I photographed it, looked, I thought at first, like a man's head, but now I realize that it is the head of a bird.
From the Notebooks of Albert Camus, which I found the other day in the Oxfam bookshop in Chapel Place: In the local cinema, they sell peppermint lozenges on which are inscribed the words: "Will you marry me?" "Do you love me?" And the replies, "this evening", "very much" etc. You pass them to your neighbour who responds in a like manner. Some lives are devoted to the exchange of peppermint lozenges.
Windows in the neighbourhood are alive with Christmas trees. Lights on the branches sparkle. The pine needles are fresh and green.Yet it is still almost two weeks until Christmas day. Heidi, who comes from the land where the Christmas tree originates, says that, in her tradition, the tree is only brought indoors on Christmas eve, when it is decorated with real beeswax candles. The honey-smell of the burning candles and the pine needles fresh in from the cold, are one of her treasured Christmas memories.