In the mud beside Thames treasures and mysteries abound.In the garden of some bird loving neighbours there hangs a bird-feeder loaded with peanuts. This morning there came to a wee mouse, a wood mouse, says Pam; and, at the same time, tackling the feeder from the other side, a sparrow. No camera to hand, the photograph has to stay in the mind.
Has my Epson strains to copy a photograph, it repeats the same word. "Rambo," it says, "Rambo, Rambo..." Could it not be Rimbaud, the poet rather than the angry maverick soldier? No such: luck the emphasis is distinctly on the first rather than the second syllable.
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