They are both called Alex. She is German, tall and swaggering, with tattoos curling across her skin. She wears aviator sunglasses and smokes languidly, more Danny than Sandy. He is Greek, with shining green eyes and lurid orange shorts. His smile is bright and quick, and he speaks softly to the small boy on the boat who is too shy to look at the sea. It is Alex’s last day in Crete, and her last trip out on the boat. We punters, boxy in our life jackets, sit on the hot cushioned sides of the boat, smiling te
posted by Léonie at 6:01 pm | 369 comments
Yesterday we were on the motorway, heading North in a hire van made of sellotape and hope. The skies widened and the horizons suddenly got all massive. As the road stretched out ahead all the signs started to say things like “Carlisle, Penrith, SCOTLAND.” It’s that time of year: all roads lead to Edinburgh. On Sunday night I lay in the bath, gin and tonic in hand, studying my feet. Sorry, feet, I thought. Look at you, all innocent, blissfully unaware that over the next month I will force you to do the famou