... leaves speak for themselves, sometimes of things other than leaves and of animate relationships beyond the capacity of leaves.
For as long as I can remember, I have always carried a book with me as a stand-by even on short excursions, in case I am stranded and waiting for a connection. But recently I have noticed (and maybe it's because I am writing this blog every day) that I seldom have recourse to a book, because there is always so much to look at or listen to when travelling or simply hanging around a station.
An old fashioned lunch (grouse and Burgundy) with an old friend at a London club surrounded by old gents also enjoying an old fashioned lunch, and, like us, talking more about old times than present times - a beautiful, if old fashioned break, from present preoccupations.
i can picture you tucking in your enormous napkin to prevent the delicious gravy from staining your weskit & watch-chain ...
A matter of etiquette. I take it you were "playing away" regarding the lunch. Are you entitled to ask your host if you can see the label on the bottle? - not that there's much to read if it's really good burgundy. I realise there are other stratagems: "My words this is good," (to the accompaniment of lip-smacking) "do you mind if I...?" This ploy could be dangerous if it disguises your reaction to a terrible wine which you wish to identify and thereafter avoid.
A tenderness of fallen leaves...
I've never eaten grouse.
Where else but away? Marsannay. 1999. I didn't have to ask. As this kind of treat is very rare and I am no longer up to date with these things, the year did not mean a great deal to me. All I know is that it tasted good. I had resolved to limit myself to a glass of wine, but the resolution failed before I had a chance to express it.
Is "tenderness" the collective noun for a group of leaves? If not, it should be!
I always carry a book, too; it can provide entertainment -- or merely the "front" which allows one to eavesdrop on interesting conversations. Too fascinated by people, I should notice quiet objects more.
How I delight in the concept AND reality of old-fashioned lunches. One of our dear friends lives in Tunbridge Wells, too, and coincidentally he met my husband this week for a two-bottle lunch. Very decadent stuff, but they are always so hard-working and deserve the luxury of time (and wine and friendship) every now and then.
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