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Dear Brian

Oceanus, the puma and I are seated comfortably on a large sand dune on a desert island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, denying all knowledge of reason or sanity, and this letter comes to you courtesy of HMS Pidgeon (excuse the footmarks on the envelope).

It is 1929 and the Catholics have just been given emancipation, while night stretches out winglessly over the lavender boundaries of the earth.

As far as the eye can see, it looks as though the sun will shine here tomorrow, but I'll have to tell it we can't go on meeting like this....

The curtains whisper in the dawn of snowlight and satin poppied grass underfoot, and the ghosts of smiles remembered through the day run naked in the midnight blue velvet cloak of darkness as it snuffs out the day like a candle,

Seriously, though, sometimes I wonder why you bear with me when I'm so mad or wild or violently inconsolable, irritable, edgy or moody, or stupid and infuriating... and I say "Leave me, don't bother! I'm not worth it!"... and you say you think I am.

I wonder about it all sometimes as I lie in bed bordering alternatively on futile dreams of conquering the world or dying the way Keats did... being married in white and carrying frezias and crysthanthenums and sweet peas, and all the church scented and filled with beautiful music... and me silent-eyed on the edge of it all... hoping it'll happen to me some day, and wanting to pull communication cords on trains, and wanting to go to Lindisfarme concerts every Friday night - wanting the sun to be there every morning to wake up to - hoping God won't give me up as a bad job... (PS: Please ignore me. I talk a load of rubbish).

And you'll have to forgive me sometimes because I say things I don't mean.

Thank you for holding me and for laughing at all the right times and for understanding and for saying that you want it to last.

Your chest is so firm as I press myself against you, craving security and protection from all the things that go on outside this room with the Oceanus cushions and the green velvet curtains....

My hair is damp all over the pillow, and it's time I slept....

off to the world of stars and satin horses on sunlit golf courses on islands in the Pacific for another deep meaningful experience (getting silly again - grow up, Judi!)

PS: I love your smile.

Impossibly, the sea trickles over the sand in silver rivers, as the sun gives a last cheerful wave and puts its head down on the pillow of the fields on the soft-eyed horizon.

I chew on pieces of grass that aren't grass at all... but are ribbon, nervous hands twining in my hair, and then the dark comes with thoughts of you, and I long to see your eyes smile into mine...

love Judi

PS: See you on Thursday

Do you like me flowers (doodles)?