11th August 2010
Roses, Spain.
Seems serendipitous that I should write about rose tinted glasses and then pass a city called Roses. Rose glasses over Roses … And the perfect tree.
I’d hoped to get up one of these – I’m not sure, maybe – cork? They have cork-like bark. Was one of my grandmothers pie in the sky ideas back in the day – to buy a cork plantation in Portugal. That would have been a different life. My brilliant Danish grandmother. One of the first people I would have met and the first person I saw as no more than a shell laying in her coffin, with her dream of cork.
It was about making a place for the family to meet up and an investment. It never happened. I once heard the richest place on earth is the graveyard. Because dreams are the riches of a person. He warned us not to take our dreams to our graves … etc. So I’m heading out of Spain via Roses. I hope it doesn’t look like these are my holiday snaps. They are in a way – but … it’s a pity. It was holiday mode and as a result I missed climbing with a troupe of Austrian scouts and a family guy shaman – also from Austria. I’m hoping to redeem myself by visiting them in Austria.
I’ll confess I was a bit hung over and had trouble communicating first thing in the morning – let alone the prospect of climbing a tree - with a group of eager scouts. The night before I had been the fascinating artist with a twinkle in his eye. The morning after – as they waited for me to get up I think I looked kind of pathetic. Very pathetic. Think of Oliver Reed, after a heavy night.
