Friday 20th March



My angel has many professions, builder, petrol pump attendant,
postman. Today he’s a bus driver.
“Would you like a bit’ve toast?” he asks, bright-eyed, full of life,
even after hours behind the wheel. I stumble around, toothbrush in
mouth, raise a hand declining. Everyone’s asleep, parked up on a
Brussel’s street, talks about his sons with pride, the truck driver,
the medical insurance salesman, about his love for them, about being
a parent, a partner, a man. This is stuff I need to hear, sitting
across the table, nodding, scooping mashed wheat & rice milk as he
hands me a mug of camomile & honey, unsure if the damage I did to my
throat last night will allow me to sing I shut up & listen, feeding
on his medicine, growing stronger, cleaner, ride with him up front
in his cab, Beethoven Piano concertos underscoring the stone faces
of a Belgian rush hour.



5 thoughts on “Friday 20th March

  1. You’ve already taken me higher!
    I smell and hear Brussels through your diary.
    I wonder if you sensed the solar eclipse this morning, and what music you might create to express it.
    Love from London x

  2. Your velvet voice gave 100% last night indeed 🙂
    This was my best U/W concert ever. The city, the food, the French audience and the whole day that started and ended with you.
    Thank you!

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