...Taken from an email to a friend. Just rambling, but I like the imagery and where it went. It actually says a lot, although it may not be apparent. Wisbech, in England, is where I was born. That fact, and the fact I moved to Australia when I was two and having a German father, English mother and the French grand-mother always made me confused about 'what' I should call my self (it appears we need labels). I post it regardless by way of conversation. One should just say stuff sometimes and cop the flack regardless, we should just be us and dispense with role playing. I'm reading Martin Buber on the bus to work at the moment. That guy knows stuff. Great philosopher. I love philosophy. Too much, maybe; which is why I write rubbish like what you see below. You can blame Martin...

I often dream of Wisbech where I was born. I don't remember it of course, though I have some pictures. The dreams entail glimpses of yellow, sandy, crescent shaped bays (like one would see in a Dick and Dora book: 'Father promised to take us to the bay if it was fair, where we would build a sand castle with bucket and spade and watch the yachts in the bay'; one needs to introduce the tricky word 'yacht' at some point; often in conjunction with 'quay') from a 'front room' window, where we are having afternoon tea of (of course) tea and very very small sandwiches (tiny ones; really very small). We wander down to the bay and the dream ends. I never end up swimming and always wake up depressed with the untidy, messy, un-ordered Australian landscape with untidy road verges and nary a cobblestone or properly trimmed hedge in sight. Let alone a tea cup; heaven forbid. A lady at work commented to me the other day 'I like your elegant tea set' in regard to my small glass tea pot and vintage tea cup (I was making 'Dragon's Eye' tea; hand rolled White Tea in Hibiscus flowers; little balls that un-ravel in a most elegant way; visible in all their understated glory through the tea pot glass; slightly floating; almost ethereally in the darkening light-tan coloured infusion). I replied 'Thank you. I'll take that as a compliment' She said 'It was meant as one', demonstrating a little uncertainty now at her comment. So then I felt uncertain. And left. Carrying my little glass teapot infusing hand rolled herbs (allegedly, one should say; I mean, where's the proof? Could be a machine that's employed for all I know; which might actually be better; you don't know where those hands have been) back to my desk and spooned creamed honey (it's less messy) into my tea cup thinking that maybe I felt like an idiot.