Donkeyshott & Xuitlacoche

After they were separated by the outbreak of war in September 1939 Granny decided to keep this album of photos to show Grandpa. It's of their daughter, Eve, and Granny. The album shows Eve as she grew up apart from her father. This is a tribute to Granny's careful hope and the photographic story ends up with her  in the arms of her husband and the family on the beach in South Africa. But  the last pictures of all the story are of Lisa with Eve together in 1943  and 1943. The petals of an old wild flower were pressed between the leaves of the album, but they were  delicate, and I inadvertently crushed them. This is the first part of the album.

Dear Philip - here are the photos we've found. What a cute baby you were!  There might be a newspaper article as well, but we haven't found it yet. I'll be working on my memories of  them and will send them on to you soon.   Best wishes - Glenys and Howard.

Before I met them again I dreamed them. Sunil, smiling, walking down an ornate staircase and running his fingers over a polished bone bannister. Sheeshek on supporting blocks in a drydock, dripping and barnacle encrusted. The last time I remember seeing Sunil he had his own little basement full of books and papers in a terraced house in Gower Street with a blue plaque to a Bloomsbury socialite on it.  The plan was that we would drink lots of beer in Berlin and I wanted to piss into Hitler's bunker. I flew to Berlin. At the airport I met our social organiser from at the University of Kent - she was going to Turkey. I landed at a Berlin's airports, a flat place. I had an address Cafe Einstein, for an hour I marched down xxxxx until I realised I was lost.The streets were empty of cars and the roads were cordoned off because Germany was about to play Argentina in the South African world cup. People criss crossed the avenue. The only time I have been told off for policem

We still really miss you, Mom.    

Hear the one hand slow clapping, Buddhists. A colleague of mine, showed me a video of her son acting Buddha in a play. He had to meditate for several hours before each performance. Such surety, such tranquility. Such a knowing smile. He did have an aura about him, the aura of certitude. Buddhism is a soul eater. A Yog Sothoth. A Leviathan. A monster. A phtasm, a creature. If one is a poet and says something like: "Life is a sacrifice of the heart." then no one should interpret this as a command to rip out a real heart. Or, when you say, as a poet,'"This is my body'" holding a piece of bread you are being powtic. You don't imply transubstantiation. Was Buddha even a good poet? Buddhism castles the imagination and that makes it quite dangerous. It has its imagined defences and its real defenders.Their 'Dharma's' and 'Karmas' and Boddhis. And these are real weapons carried by real people. Because the imagination is real. As