I thought you might enjoy a wee sampling from the Speranza Now Archives, way back to April 2018! Enjoy …
Before and after the Easter holidays, I traditionally take a few days off to complete projects I have been meaning to return to (I’m looking at you, streamlined recipe binders) no longer flinging ragged sheets everywhere as I squeeze your gaping three rings closed with an arthritic, crocodilian snap.
But in-between bursts of energy like this, The General and I have shut the doors against the snow and wind and taken to wandering around with cups of scented tea and wedges of sticky Baklava, talking for hours about topics as diverse as Sidney Bechet, British trade unionists (to be fair, we were considering The Perfect Dog Name for a dog we do not have – yet) and soon to be perused Roberto Bolaño, the poet that Patty Smith mentions so often in M Train.
In short, it’s my idea of bliss.
Many people have a favourite aunt. Often, these women are considered to be The Zany One, the one who is always a bit off centre, the one you can count on to dish honestly about the rest of the family – and not judge you for asking.
(I like to think that I fit this description myself!)
But strangely, my own favourite Aunties – eccentric, quirky and hard core Mancunians – were not even real, legitimate Aunties.
Let me explain.