My dad asked me to take him to France, one last time, to buy his cigars. ‘They are cheaper in Calais,’ he assured me. Long grey waves, white topped, sway us. The captain says, ‘Force 7 Beaufort,’ in a matter-of-fact way. ‘It won’t be moved,’ I assure my dad. ‘65000 tons, rock solid and rockContinue reading “Flash Fiction 2 – Sweet Nostalgia”
