The single best piece of writing that I have read this week, penned by an old friend of mine from my Cambridge days. Her blog, “From The Edges”, is well worth following.
When I last lived in Spain, there was nothing between me and the sea. Our street, Calle Virgen del Socorro, clung to the bare rock of Mount Benacantíl at the edges of the city. From the windows of our 8th floor flat, the view was of infinity.
I dreamed of tsunamis over and over.
Everything was clear – I would be sitting at our table chatting, or hanging out the washing on the balcony, when the water struck. There was no time to get away. I felt it hit me, cold and brutal, before I woke up gasping. Over and over. I have no idea why; I have never been afraid of drowning – at least, no more than I have ever been afraid of death. But the sea that filled my senses through the waking day overwhelmed me as I slept.
So much of that year seems like a dream to…
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Semi-Partisan Politics 