We cross the border from California into Nevada—rampaging fires having forced a last minute change of itinerary— passing a gas station with attached brothel and a mobile tattooist on a graffiti splashed parking lot before arriving at our overnight stop. .........more
A fuzzy aura surrounds Baby Jesus: not so much halo, more white angora. He and Joseph have been knitted from assorted scraps of 3-ply and are roughly twice the size of Mary, a Barbie-like figure swathed in silver tinsel. All three, however, are dwarfed by the bizarre centrepiece of this Nativity, a plastic pig carcass, suspended from a frame, belly slit open, innards picked out in sickly shades of grey and purple. .........more
In the mizzle of an Edinburgh morning Saltires swirl; chants of ‘yes’ and ‘no’ are flung rhythmically back and forth across the grey streets by impassioned, but good natured crowds ; politicians polish their sound-bites and wave their tartan-trimmed promises. But we, sequestered in a medieval walled town high in the Tuscan hills, are a world away from referendum fever, surely?.............more
‘I’m lookin’ for a gun-slinger,’ I announced self-consciously rapping the door. No response.
Was it a wind-up? The concierge had winked in what I took to be a conspiratorial manner as he handed me the slip of paper and mouthed ‘password’ but perhaps he was just having a joke at my expense. ‘I’m lookin’ for a gun-slinger’, I repeated, more forcefully. .............more