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Aquarius Buried Treasure Callanish S T O N E D Q U A R T Z McMac Pardon? Tattoo Camera Obscura High Creagan The West Highlander Pot Of Gold StarVoyagers Deep Breath Vulpes Vulgaris Richard |
H.M.S. Belfast Firing Range Royal Visit Crisp and Even Elizabeth Great Court S.T. Barnabas Runaway Vengence Weapon No 1 Water Trough Woolwich Ferry CloudBusting Segas Showing My Age 39 Rue Grande Nigel Knows Disco Not Cricket It Is Better Mind How You Go No Flowers Ashes to Ashes R.I.P. Feminist |
Four floors above the apothekerie, Up winding wooden tread That grow tighter, steeper at the top, Leave breathless climber red. Pulling open narrow Fenetre And leaning on iron scroll bar, Look out to flag decked Town Hall, And down to Citroen oyster car. Across the rue where Pompiers play Football in the station yard, Where hoses hang from tower tall, Where silver helmets stand silent guard. Where Gendarme lingers at the lights Soon to change to green, where Chauffeur slows to soft clasp hand, Early morning greeting scene. Prisunic and Printemps, And steaming public baths, Patisserie, Boucherie, And Cafe furniture paths. Mother church of solid stone, colourfull market stalls, Glorious sound of mellow bells, And vendors curious calls. Onions, garlic, artichokes, And metre lengths of bread, These sights and sounds of rural France Forever in my head. HIGH STREET FONTAINEBLEAU |