Saturday, January 13, 2007

old friend,winter butterfly, mustard

I bump into a former neighbour who comes home for a cup of tea and stays for a bottle of wine.

A brown butterly flutters past me in Sutherland Road. It is January 13th.

In Sankey's bar there is a collection of old advertisement signs. One reads: Eat Coleman's mustard with our prime beef, mutton etc and enjoy them more." Another: "Lyle Superior Quality Lemonade Ginger Beer". Reflections of a simpler age.


Belinda said...

Hello Mr. Hyam (a.k.a. plutarch)
Whenever I read your profile, which says, "used to be a journalist," I am curious. I would love to know more about your writing. Where did you "journal" :) How long for? Do you miss it?

Unknown said...

For a number of years I was editor of a weekly magazine for the hotel and restaurant industry, and before that of an industrial magazine. That accounts for about 30 years. I enjoyed both jobs at the time, but don't miss them now. You will find the first thirteen of a sequence 50 of my poems on

Belinda said...

Aha! Thank you for satisfying my curiousity. Writers write. You write because you can't help it, but now it's for the sheer joy of it.