Through The Valley Of Death For My Helen of Troy!

Dear Juliet

I see you read a few blogs last night?

Well, if you're having a bit of a crisis don't worry, I'm here. And as Frasier Crane would say, "I'm listening."

It's all right. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere.

Everyone has these two o'clock in the morning moments; where reality crashes in and you feel like the wreck of the Hesperus, storm-tossed amidst heaving seas. I'm not too bad myself, but I usually feel pretty grouchy and hopeless in the mornings.

This too shall pass.

Have a hug:

🤗

It's actually been a slow news day here, so I was thinking of showing you a few old shots from Needles in Death Valley. That segued on to thoughts of whether you might retire from a declining Hollywood and buy a flat in Primrose Hill, but I won't dwell on that.

So:

1) You've got my contact details if you need to unload (reminds me of that time you were being overwhelmed by moths and spiders in London in 2011 and we spent half the night texting each other).

2) I'll show you a few photos of Needles and its vastness. The town was famous for its murals in its day although now it seems to specialise in cannabis cafés...

I'd had a slow Sunday afternoon to sidle through before getting the Southwest Chief to L.A., so I decided to walk through town in search of the Best Western where I'd one day like to stay. Thought I'd take my camera at the last moment, maybe capture a few images...

I took 267.

Call it the other America, the real America, whatever you might say. It's out there, only eight hours down the tracks from L.A...

I hope these'll calm you, ground you a bit for the oncoming day.

And don't forget, Helen of Troy, I carried the thought of you with me all that long afternoon, come what may.

Love,

James
















































































































































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