I’ve always liked graveyards. Not the sort of highrise blocks of niches with plastic flowers and laminated photos that you find in Spain, but proper British graveyards with grass and moss; where the slate and granite is so worn and weathered that you have to touch the stones to trace the names. Continue reading “hallowmas”
I’ve been reading online that lots of places in the States won’t let you adopt a black cat in October for fear that you’ll torture and mutilate it as part of a satanic ritual for Hallowe’en. This being Spain, though, I suspect that these three – who, when tumbled together in the sunshine seem to jointly warrant the name of Cerberus – are probably no more at risk than at any other time of year.