love

SUNDAY / 50

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I haven't had a day this good in ages. Iced lattes and an hour at the beach, a late breakfast at home with the radio and the paper and one of my favourite guys, and after it all, a nap - because being happy can really tire you out. I managed a few hours of work and some reading in the afternoon, and then Redfern Continental for wines and pasta and some very good talks.

Oh, and then PJ HARVEY. Live, in the flesh, in her glory, full of power and easily the best thing that's happened to my ears and heart in forever. She marched on stage with nine men and resounding drums and her voice was flawless, ringing out into the night. I was drawn in with her stories or war, the way she creates another world and evokes another time, and then I lost my mind for the thrashy emotion of her early stuff. It was so good I barely slept and don't even mind - I woke on Monday feeling wrought and full.

YEAR THREE.

YEAR TWO.

YEAR ONE.

ELECTRIC LIGHT

20131212-073937.jpg I used to live with a young man in London, when I was 19 or so. He would hide Milky Bars in the pocket of my coat so that I would find them at 1 in the morning, when I was walking home from work on the cobblestones, hands deep in my pockets trying to warm them. One night, I found him fast asleep in the dark corner of our bed, with this red - this electric light - peaking out from under my pillow. He'd seen me admiring it at Waterstones the week before and never said a word. He didn't like a song and dance, he was reserved - very English. But his gestures were magnificent.

DISTANCE

20130225-222643.jpg We meet at opposite ends of the day. He messages first thing when he wakes, as I'm crawling into bed and yawning away my day. I blink and half-sigh as my eyes close heavy on his few words. And as I sit down at my desk the morning after, reading the paper and drinking my latte, I send him my good night and love by way of a clumsy email.

Three months apart. Three months of upside-down greetings, missed calls and bad lines. Our smiles are small pixels, crackling just a moment behind our words, a half-the-world away delay on a computer screen.

Three months almost gone and next week he's home to me. For a little while, anyway...

* The image is from the beach house we just rented - a wonderful home full of old Danish furniture, dusty board games and cold salty air.