last sitting at table 58 – threadbare carpet hotel breakfast ‘té? café? sir? madam?’ ‘is there marmalade?’ ‘I fetch you mermelada’ ‘and a spoon for my muesli’ ‘I fetch you, cuchara, madam’ ‘no, ‘spoon’, I said’ porridge is being ladled and admired ‘the Scots spell porridge ‘porage’’ ‘I didn’t know that’ ‘I have five prunes in mine each morning’ ‘prunes
» Read moreo Lord deliver me I’m waiting outside in the corridor staring at my trainers on my jeans, a soup stain reminds me of Italy the drinks machine won’t give change and I’m gasping for coffee wheel-chaired women, some groaning, some cursing, roll into ‘delivery’ ‘is that Isabel yelling? sounds a lot like her when she’s shouting at
» Read moreFlanagan phoned – left a message ‘hope you’re well I’m down your way be nice to catch up – I’ll bring some photos’ Flanagan had a forename she doesn’t use it – I never heard it she lives alone in a pink-washed cottage on the white horse coast of Mayo painting wistful landscapes – gentle reminders of
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