My England

My England is green and pleasant. In my mind’s eye, the countryside is green and rolling, with occasional villages surrounding leafy, oaked cricket pitches or busy duck ponds. The lanes of my youth lead past scattering pheasants and floral hedgerows which echo the sound of a slightly ropey semi-classic British sports car. Towns are timbered and bricked, with low-ceilinged pubs smelling…

My England

The boy on a pogo stick

Roses wave gently in the breeze, and a wood pigeon coos from a tree, unseen. A cyclist glides silently by and a muffled, childish swear word echoes quietly from a nearby football pitch. Bees buzz, breezes waft, and a boy bounces past on a pogo stick.

The boy on a pogo stick

Basse Ville

I regain a holiday feeling by sitting in an old town square, eating pizza, whilst locals perch on a wall, smoking cigarettes before a little bus arrives and rattles them away. Swifts and martins race through the narrow lanes, far above us, to catch their own dinner. The sun slowly retreats up the old stone buildings surrounding us, and fades abruptly from…

Basse Ville