This old house

AN OLD HOUSE IN SIBIU
Not for nothing does
one layer of brick grow thicker
carrying a need
not to budge at all.


Then another,
small, mouldy
slips into the frame.

The bastards who lived here;
elements - the hydrogen and helium,
iron and uranium of the human soul -
trace tourists' started eyes.

That rather poncey poem was written when I was musing on the relationship between poetry and science as conceived in Eastern Europe, which of course is not a poncey thing to think about at all.

The above house in Sibiu is four hundred years old and probably going to end up as a shop selling amber or mobile phones or something.

Les petits snobs belges!

That was what three men from Paris called us last night because we wouldn't go with them to a pub called The Loft.

Still, they weren't that bad - and as they were all younger than us maybe it was a compliment.

Here's a picture of me in Paris lying stomach-down on the pavement in order to adore the locals.