Monday, 6 August 2012

Port Eliot.


Stomps by the river. High tide is High. Low tide is mud.
It was very amusing to see children sliding down the mud banks. Watching the parents cringe on the side of the river. How on earth will I get that out of their clothes.

 Cocktails and food.

Much, much food.

Smokey flavors, with too many herbs. No such thing.
Explosions of chili bombs. Ruined taste buds.

The sun. It was out. Boy it shone. Bright and warm.
Secret places discovered with fat cats. A joy. 

I would very much like to go back.
I'd say next year.
But there is no next year for Port Eliot.
It's having a rest. A shame. But good.
2014. We shall meet there again.

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