Sebastian Barry, 7 May 1987
The deck is bedded with purple blooms that wither or disappear under the purser’s footfalls.
The chairs were put out at the start, and now the flying fish match the queer colours
of the stripes. I am close by with a sandwich of lettuces from the huge freezers. I met
an old dame in the dark with a blackthorn stick, a moon in her ear, waning or waxing
she could not say, or I did not ask...