Richard Pierce

Richard Pierce – author, poet, painter


Day 181

Last night was prosecco night. We sat outside in the strengthening wind in G’s place, and watched the waves thrash against the harbour wall under the fish restaurants and rebound viciously onto the pebble beach. And then we sat on our room’s balcony (and in our living room – these rooms started as self-catering suites) until probably too late. To have arrived at this stage in our marriage where we can have grown-up conversations about everything is a blessing. My therapy has definitely helped.

Today is low-key, the wind still very strong, and the renewed realisation that ibuprofen really does not agree with my body, but at least the pain has gone, and my foot is a lot more flexible again.

I wasn’t going to write this much, but I feel time pushing on far more quickly than I’d like. And a big part of me doesn’t want to leave this place and its gentle and noble (yes, that is the right word) people.




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