Through a basement window I catch sight of a child's playroom. On a table is a toy fort or castle. I had one as a child and always considered it inadequate and not worth defending with what few soldiers I had. Since then I have always thought "fort" a silly word although I know that forts did exist in the real world. Still the sight of the play room with the fort and other toys scattered on the floor opened a portfolio of bitter sweet memories. Why bitter sweet? I can't remember, but my childhood, though far from unhappy, is streaked with strata of disappointments.
In one of the innumerable newspaper articles anticipating the approaching festival is a photograph of a goose. Its neck is stretched up almost vertically towards heaven and its head proudly announces its preeminence among birds - little does it know that its fat will soon used to roast potatoes. As is my custom, when I see a photo of something that appeals to me, I make 20 second drawing of it in my notebook. The drawing doesn't look much like the goose in the photograph, but it has a pleasing goosiness all of its own, plus an expression suggesting apprehension and doubt entirely missing from the photograph.