The Pure Life of Dreams

November 17, 2025November 17, 2025

European Taxi Drivers are Crazy when Driving in Reverse

It started after the first stop of our vacation, the stop after our visit to Trastevere in Rome.

We got into a taxi and before long we coming up towards Monaco. We were at the top of the hill on the way to our hotel in town. But we were driving backwards.

August 15, 2025August 15, 2025

I Met Alice at the Theater

I sat, Alice to my right and another woman to my left, and watched the stage. Tori Amos was giving a three night performance. The first night was her traditional songs, the second and third would be her new more avant garde material.

I put my arm around Alice’s shoulders though it was not clear I would get back with her after all this time.

The stage was in front of us in a small hall but with mirrors on either side of the stage which reflected the deep red of the curtains on stage as well as that of Tori Amos’ set up. Because of the reflection in the left hand mirror, I thought that the stage was to my left instead of directly in front. I looked for clues that I was looking at a mirror image instead of the real thing. Then I joked to Alice that the right hand mirror view was really the stage.

Alice mumbled something to the fact that I could be right. For a moment I too was confused that the right side had been the stage all along, and not after all, a mirror.

I wondered whether Alice would attend the following nights.

When the performance wound up it was already late. We stepped out of the theater into the street and I asked Alice if she would like a lift home.

We got in my car. The car was old and white but small and I asked for her address.

I pulled away from the front of the theater and turned onto Main Road.

‘It’s off the P road,’ she replied.

Then I pulled the car over against a wall on Main so that I could search up her address.

The wall was wet, shiny brown brick and there was ivy that spilled over the top of the wall that gave it a dark feeling despite the street lamps.

As I flicked through the pages of the A2Z I saw that there was no just such a road on the west side of London.

‘I’m on the east side,’ she explained.

It meant that I would have to drive her over to the east side of London, then drive back over to the west.

It would be very late by the time I got home. The fact made me irritated.

Perhaps I could stay with her tonight, though it was not clear whether she would attend the second performance.

‘Can you give me a postcode?’ I asked.

‘It’s a small road of only eleven houses off the P,’ she answered.

I looked at the P on the A2Z map and it spanned several pages.

‘But what’s the name of the road?’ I asked her.

‘Pembrokeshire,’ she finally said. I looked again on the map then threw the book onto the back seat.

‘Hang it!’ I retorted and I started to type on my phone.

‘What’s the number of your house?’ But she didn’t reply so I guessed a number and I typed it into my phone.

The font of the text in the search box was stricken through which I found odd. Nevertheless the search worked. I held up the phone for her to see the ground view of her street. The picture was of a white washed pub on the corner.

‘Yes, that’s it,’ she replied.

I put the phone on the little tray of the dashboard, so that I could begin the navigation.

In front of the car stood a young black woman who wore a formal black dress as if she were going to a funeral. She asked for a lift. She came over to the left side of the car and I nodded my agreement but then I saw that she had an old woman with her, also dressed in black. The old woman had a brown wooden cane, and could have been the younger woman’s mother. She stepped off the curb and hobbled round to the right side of the car.

How were they both going to fit in? I wondered.

Photo of Tori Amos on her Sinful Attraction tour by Tybo via Flickr.

July 21, 2025July 31, 2025

Taking Bribes after the Car Accident on the Switchback

Elaine and David were further along the road, on the parallel, hundred of yards below me where the switchback bent round. The road was filled with traffic. They were at a stop waiting for the lights to turn.

From my car above (I was in the Mazda) I watched them set off only for the BMW in front to slam on the brakes. Elaine had to brake hard, so that their black Highlander was only inches from the BMW. The car behind them was a monster truck. It also slammed on the brakes. The monster truck was raised high because of its monster wheels, and its bonnet covered the back of the Highlander when it came to a halt.

The BMW in front set off once more. And before Elaine could start the car up, the monster truck set off. At first it tried to round them on the inside but when that was not possible it drove over the Highlander, climbed the roof and came down on the other side, rolling over the Highlander’s bonnet before it pulled away.

I looked down with horror, but the Highlander did not crumple under the weight of the truck.

At the loss adjusters I tried to explain what happened but really I needed more evidence.

‘I got the number of the truck,’ said David. He held out the paper plate that he had used to write the license number on. I guessed the insurance company had tracked the address of the truck’s owners after they had driven off without stopping. But he hadn’t taken pictures so he could only explain the damage.

‘The frame of the car was cracked.’ I’d seen how the frame had split under the weight of the monster truck, but it would difficult to associate the damage with the action of the truck.

The loss adjuster stood behind a clean light brown counter in his office as I tried to pitch in that we did not have a photograph. The owners of the truck were with us. I thought they were rednecks. They stood behind us awaiting their turn to explain.

‘I was not there, but I could see from my car which was higher on the series of switchbacks,’ I said.

I tried to describe where the accident had happened. It was on Chain Bridge Road, but I couldn’t be sure. After I spoke, the rednecks approached the counter.

‘Do you have the green blanket,’ the loss adjuster asked the younger man.

He must have been around twenty-five. The man handed the loss adjuster a smaller green placemat the color of olive. I assumed it belonged to a dining set.

The loss adjuster was taking bribes.

Photo by Jose Rodriguez Ortega via Pexels.

September 12, 2024October 3, 2024

Alexis Korner Gets 100% Likes in the Titty Bar

The comedian Alexis Korner was with us.

She was an ugly woman, overweight and wearing a tan wool man’s suit with a waistcoat and a brown fedora with a peacock feather. She tagged along with us after her skit, then Siobhan drove her home.

March 2, 2023July 26, 2025

No Longer Fit for the Party

I am in Paris in the banlieues and I am going to a party. Or at least I think I was invited. And I am parking my car on a deserted dusty brown and ill-lit side street. There are no other cars at first but when I park I find myself trying to squeeze in between a white van and a blue car. I have to shift my car back and forth to maneuver it into the space.

Once I am satisfied I get out, but my car is bumpered up against the blue car behind me.

The definition of curb and road is poorly defined as if it is a construction site and the dust of the concrete has blurred the partition.

It will do, I think, as I walk away, even though I see that I am a good two feet from the curb.

So I walk to the party, somebody’s house, and there are students there, a younger crowd, different nationalities, and they are having a good time. In one room, a few are lying on the floor under a beige duvet, laughing as they throw pillows on top of each other.

I go to another room, I think the kitchen, and a woman in a black dress, loose-fitting, says something to me about her phone but I am not paying attention. I see her breasts pop out from her dress, they are small and pert, with dark brown nipples. Her breasts are too small for her dress, and she looks annoyed or uncomfortable that I saw that. She pulls up the strap of her dress and walks away.

I lean out the window, look out at the houses opposite. Each balcony is brightly colored with sheets and shirts hung up on clotheslines. It looks homely, but happy, with an ease, the same ease as the people at the party.

Then it dawns on me, I don’t love my life. ~~Wife.~~

I return to the room where they are throwing the pillows, but I don’t fit in, I need to leave and I pull out my phone to see the way. Only it is not my phone, it is square with a blue screen and it has a different provider so I take it back to the woman with the black dress.

Black dress thinks that I took it from her, I can tell. She has an Irish accent. As she steps away I see she has a black wart on her back, just above her left shoulder blade.

These people are having fun, they love each other, or are comfortable, and I know I don’t belong. I sour the party. So I pull out my own phone this time and pull up the map. And the map’s locations are in French with some Arabic but the phone has only 1% battery and I need to hurry.

Back outside I am looking for my car and the streets are filled with life, new stalls brightly lit, people heading somewhere, or browsing, or with dinner plans, or rendezvous, or other parties to go to. I walk past them to my car only it is not where I thought it would be. There is a different line of cars, even on the dark street where I thought I’d parked.

I return to the main street, then back again to double check, but my car is not to be found. And I go up to a stall decorated with purple and white awnings advertising medical options or a pharmacy, I cannot tell. A white mortar and pestle are painted on the awning.

The owner is closing up but I duck under the awning to get some light on my phone. As I pull up the map I realize that I cannot get home without it. I’ve never been to this part of Paris before and I won’t be able to intuit my way back.

And the phone now indicates 0%.

I don’t want to, but my only choice is to return to the party to charge it even a little.

Photo by Viktor Solomonik on Pexels