An irregular, irreverent, post-modern account of the surreal, the ordinary, and the bizarre happenings on and around the Felia lavender farm in Crete

Wednesday, May 17, 2006


Gilbert sipped his coffee, letting the steam rise. Lighting another cigarette he looked up and out of the kitchen window. The sky was a clear, striking and vibrant blue - and it was glaring. The air was warm already. It was only eight o'clock. An amazing light, clear and strong, picked out every single frond on the small mimosa tree outside and cast a pin-sharp shadow onto the wall of the potting shed. The potting shed glowed as the light bounced in and around the terracotta walls. He sniffed. The olive blossom was heavy this morning.

He re-read the email from Finn. His response had worked. Mr Nylon was in fact Finn - as he had suspected. Finn seemed not however to have understood or possibly noticed the reference to Flann's theory and had take the somewhat desperate query as a purely textual issue. It was good to have had a response but he would need to clarify and expand his hypothesis in his own response. He needed to make some notes. He switched over to his new and secret site. (see the side bar, or the previous entry for a link).

They would all three be zipping off to Rethymnon later and he hoped against hope that he would have time to formulate some cogent response to Finn before the others came down for breakfast. He sketched out some ideas but before he could construct a response everyone arrived. Maybe later. Maybe not.

Not, as it transpired. They spent the day in Rethymnon and, as planned Rob Werther the carpenter turned up at the back end of the afternoon bringing a couple of hairy arsed buliders to quote for the new door and window that they wanted in the cellar. The day wasted away on him and he was no closer to a serious response. They had had a good day but he was still disappointed. He had this nagging suspicion that his grasp was slipping on the issues. Things were going well, and yet ...

(to be continued ... )

No comments:

Post a Comment