Another busy night.

the garden

At first the roof space is tiny- individual spaces trapped between rafters or accessible through small openings in the wall and then only if your arm is truly flexible.

But later - taking the lifts which are surprisingly new and which can only have recently been installed - you arrive within the cavernous expanse, that in fact has no end.

Yes, the lifts are new but here everything else is covered in the thick acrid smells of memory and covered with the dust of bygone days.

People are singing – it is assembly time, but others are eating and drinking; it has become a popular place to dine and the manner has not changed- everyone sits in groups of eight on wooden benches two sides of a long table.

The Queen is here, somewhere. I can not see her but everyone stands and sings her name before resuming the noisy celebration of dining.

On the far side the galleries of entertainment begin. Reproduction or original it is impossible to say but I expect the latter: A shooting stand, the dodgems, the ghostly mine.

There are boats moored in the centre, but there Is no water.

The young boy follows and we climb along the rafters, it is the only way; he is small so it is easy for him, I remain large and clumsy.

He has the innocence.

I carry the weight of experience mislaid.

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