Green Milk

Lat night I had weird dreams in which I was trying to teach a cow to produce fluorescent green milk.

I knew it was a weird dream because the cow listened to me.

Let’s face it, what do I know about milk production?

Later in the dream I flew and, although I know little more than feathers about the principles of flight, I let myself go and soared.

When I landed, I woke and realised that strong wind was assailing the house.

The Vent d’autan can crumble nations, spin trains off the railway tracks and local peasants call it The Vent Fou; if you murder a pregnant woman when it is in full rush, no judge will ever convict you.

So I stepped out of the house to see what was going on and it blew me back inside.

“Good day to fly a kite”, I thought, “if I can get outside”.

I couldn’t.

So I didn’t.

The last time I flew a kite was when Krissie took this picture; my son was still diminutive, my daughter spoke with the fairies.

And I knew where my kite was.

The beach was in Ireland, it probably still is unless this wind is stronger than I think, and we had arrived in the night, tired from traveling.

It was raining – this was Ireland remember – the tent that I tried to pitch using the car headlights was new and I am not technical, unless it comes to fluorescent green milk.

Krissie chose to sleep in the car.

The next day was clear, but I was awake early.

At sunrise the locals arrived with horses and jockey – the beach is an ideal place to train future champions.

A good place to fly a kite too.