When Don Quixote met Ella Gow

The talk soon came around to dancing. His pantaloons were incongruous but, in her green drndl hand-me-down, she herself was scarcely a model of elegance. None of which seemed to matter as, seamlessly, they moved from talk to practice. Well, more of a lesson, if truth be told, as Ella, till now, had only read of the Pavane. The Don’s grace and courtly manners were matched only by her guileless acquiescence and, perhaps, by the vacuous stares of the seven attendant Livingstone Daisies, resplendent in their black neckerchiefs and white lace petticoats. There were none to mock, for it was Tuesday, and barely dark.
No, I've not quite gone mad. There was a short-lived blog once, called Paraplexed. I always had a soft spot for this particular post and thought I'd preserve it here. Anyone recognise the picture?


  1. What an elequant melange of literary images - you are a man of many talents. Still enjoying your, lately more regular, posts as well as your music hub offerings - they help to relieve the ongoing monotony of living and working in Slaka. Cheers, PaulRBDoha - maybe I'll change that to PaulRSlackaadder which I used to get as a kid beinga twist on my Ancestoral Scottish surname.

  2. PS: Hey buddy can you lend me the top RH corner of QAR100 note. Cheers, PaulRSlacka.

  3. Hi Paul - well spotted: it is indeed the stylised boat, palms and sea from the Qatar banknotes. I cropped out the crossed scimitars to make it more abstract. Probably my defective eyesight, but I've always seen Don Quixote's spindly legs in these palm trunks. And yes, we all have to find a way to survive the (increasing) dullness of Slaka.


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