That one’s easy. Liverpool? No. Birmingham? No. Think again. Brighton? No. Her Majesty’s one and (many) (Buckingham) Palace(s).
Satan’s dead end. Paris, 20th arrondissement. Not a joke. A real street. Right around the corner from my brother’s workshop. Not even half a “blog” away. That street inspired me a story called “Banquete de pordioseros”, Beggars’ banquet. Which reminds me I haven’t posted it yet…
A Citroën converted into a food-truck. Paris? The plates are classic French, 79 department, les-deux-sèvres, center-west of France, between Chollet, Poitiers and La Rochelle. Cat got your tongue? London. South bank. I sh.. you not. London was invaded by those vintage french trucks painted colourfully and serving a variety of truck-foods.
My brother’s den, Paris, near the Impasse Satan. Rare books by Pierre Loti (wonder who reads him anymore?) and Julien Gracq. The artist is on the B&W photo is Marie Laforêt, a so-sixties beauty and singer: see below the link to “viens, viens sur la montagne”:
Bombay or Mumbai as they write it these days? No. Brighton, England, last July. Complete with an invigorating (read: freezing) english wind. The Brighton peer was a wee bit of a disappointment. Town taken over by hordes of half-frozen tourists. Managed to get a fairly decent curry in a side street.
London. July 2015. A vibrant english confession that there is no english cuisine. (Others might add, just as there is no french rock & roll.)
So much for today. The usual jazz and (c). Thank you for flying Equinoxio. We will take you to the most unexpected destinations.