I stalked the house for years before Feist moved into it. A former butcher shop, now over a century old and swallowed by ivy, with large multi-paned windows, a huge fireplace and a tiny painter’s studio outback. With the limitless funds of a daydreamer, I imagined how I’d add a peaked roof, shutters and window boxes. Each morning coffee in hand I’d open the hobbity oak door and step into the beautiful gardens, the legacy of Bridget, the former owner. Now that Feist’s moved out I can resume my Looky-looing with impunity and not be mistaken for a star fucker.
Image by: Alan Baillargeon, Amherstburg, Ontario
Nectar Angelorum Hominibus - A timey wimey weekend with wibbly wobbly moments galore. Last night was a sleepy stumble through mistaken identities and somewhat hellish forays into snapsh...
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