A Return of Sorts.

This is a time of testing and learning. The test is being handled as usual, and the lessons are well taken.

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The flames had burned off the coals in the grate, leaving a heavy mass of bright red embers casting a gentle and friendly warmth into the room. The world beyond the closed curtains was dark and silent; even the trees had ceased their whispering and gone to rest. The only thing that looked restless was my Spanish guitar that leant uneasily against the wall at the side of the chimney breast.

Liv was reclining on the sofa that faced the fire, while I occupied my accustomed armchair alongside it. She shifted her long legs for comfort, those legs that could leap more than thirty feet in three bounds, and looked deep and long into my eyes. It was an enigmatic look, but the enigma was not for solving since it really didn’t matter. She was holding her second glass of Bristol Cream sherry firmly between cupped hands, as though guarding it from an unseen predator. She’d never had sherry before. I smiled knowingly, and said

‘You’ll be getting squiffy.’

‘Squiffy is a good word,’ she replied with no hint of hesitation.

‘Squiffy is the best of words,’ I said with a giggle.

‘Play Mr Tambourine Man for me.’

And so I did.