At the Alexandros Greek Restaurant ...

The taxi driver had little good to say of the Alexandros Greek Restaurant - 

The wine was corked he said, gripping the steering wheel of his Skoda - Barnsley slop - 

The four of us were on our way back to Boustead Hill, after our second night in the Courtfield Guest House - 

I'd grown fond of my attic room high above the Carlisle streets -

Now though, our journey was coming to an end - waves of elation, then of sadness, flowed through my heart - 

The walking's really come on the driver was saying - time was when the farmers didn't like walkers - I'd walk an extra five miles to avoid a bull - now they know the walkers bring in a line of money - 

But by then I was no longer listening - dimly I heard Alyson protesting that the restaurant was fine - I was recalling every poignant detail of our evening together there - 

We'd set off in the northern twilight, along Warwick Road, at ease in each other's company, laughing, sharing stories - 

I'd drunk Mythos Beer and ordered Kotopoulo Souvlaki - Alyson had poured out the bumpers of Rioja - 

The place was warm and crowded - there were pictures of temples and ivy crowned nymphs on the walls - Greek music was playing - 

In my notebook I later wrote we got quite merry - there was wistful talk of smashing plates - 

When we left the restaurant, Alyson and Julia danced out of the door - 

Penny said - soon we'll be going our separate ways - 

She spoke as true as ever - I imagined us all, in our different houses, apart when we had once been together - 

10.00

15 July 2014

In a taxi, approaching Boustead Hill