One dark, sad evening, in a little flat in a dear green place
at the edges of Bad City, a pretty white mug shatters into a hundred pieces, and
waves goodbye to this world never to be seen again. And from the back of a
cupboard in the tiny kitchen of this little flat, behind glasses and pots and second-hand
china, another mug, long forgotten, is brought back to light. This big
colourful mug is painted with images of a place that is half a world away in
space and time too; but memories of this remote island all of a sudden find
their way to you on a shaky seaplane; and it is some sunny, placid memories of
car rides along a promenade and there’s tall tall trees; and people smile at
you and feed you nuts and chocolate, and take you to a house of leaves where you find jars and jars of toffee and vanilla
and sweet marzipan tea.
Whenever I hear that everything
happens for a reason, I secretly cringe with disdain; as there can’t
possibly be a recommended daily intake of misfortune, never mind having a good
5-a-day of it; however, I must admit, catastrophes may cater for stories; and
in this specific case, catastrophes do cater for very nice biscuits.
In loving memory of my
white mug – July 2015-11th March 2016
