In January and July this year I paddled in the River of Stones and panned for my own nuggets of daily truth.
I think it's high time I re-polished my nuggets and dangled them here to delight those who prefer truth when it sparkles and burns and buys it's way into all the most (un)desirable places.
Inevitably drawn to pale foods he was the sort of man to heap his plate with potatoes and spend the meal searching for his meat. To drink two pints of milk straight from a summer doorstep and smile away the morning as they curdled gently within. To think of his mother whenever he caught himself looking at a woman's breasts - remembering her force feeding him rice pudding, and withholding blancmange when he'd been bad.