Just home from Sunday night dinner at Ally and Tessa's. Through the back garden in the cold and into the steamy house. Steamy with the cooking smell of steak, parsnip, carrots, potatos, Yorkshire pudding and wine. We sat around a table cloth of orange tartan. Cloth that Ally bought too much of when he went to make curtains for his Volkswagen bus. Depesh Mode, Bauhaus, McDermott's 2 Hours, and later we made Rosy the dog howl when we played "So Long Marry Ann." Ally says she always sings along with that. Then a crisp walk 'round town under bright winter stars. Saw David Whyte playing violin framed in his front room window. Joy came home with a lent copy of Ewan Magreggor's own Mortocycle Diaries ('sept I think Ewan had a better bike). Argued this morning with her as to whether Donald Sutherland has a sometimes part as the psychiatrist in old Law and Order episodes and last night saw the new re-make of Battlestar Galactica. What an unmitigated disaster that was.
The house is quiet and it's winter outside. Woke this morning to quickly melting snow and hazy skies.
Thinking about Vashti Bunyan last night brings to mind these words from her album which to me perfectly reflect the dreamy winter night full of heady red wine, dreaming, and desire ~ that soulful longing for a world more simple than this. At least she made the run for it.
I wish I had a window over the bay
And a black horse grazing on the green all day
I wish I had a well to draw my water from
And a warm log fire for when the summer is gone
I wish I had a window over the bay
And a flock of white sheep to watch from where I lay
I wish I had a little boat bobbing on the deep
And a big wooden table all laid out for tea
I wish I had a window over the bay
And a dreamy eyed cow to fill my milking pail
I wish I had a cockerel to raise me at dawn
And a little bed to sleep in when the curtains are drawn
