Scrambled Eggs

  Into your hands I commend the beating of tonight’s eggs. This will be the last meal of solid food. — When my Dad was in the final stages of his cancer, one of the few things he ate was scrambled eggs. That period of my life still circles in my mind. It was a strange

“on the table – a glass of water”

This time last year I wrote up an explanation about “Winterreise”, a poem in which a glass of water features as a symbolic object. (Regular readers will have noticed that water is a recurring motif in my poetry.) “Winterreise” describes a meal out with my father, who passed away on the 5th May five years

Scherzo: Allegro before the Finale

as told to me by Klara Last week three of my octogenarian friends dropped in. Nobody drops in on me! But they did: from Brighton, Cambridgeshire and Dorset.   So, where are we going out tonight? asked my friend from Brighton. I had no idea, but we found pizza.   (I don’t know why I