Because Blogger's "Adult warning" often goes into a perpetual loop (isn't working properly), I will be making all new posts at my WordPress blog. You can follow it even if you do not have a WordPress Account. There're also my Twitter and my Tumblr blog, my Facebook and my Google+ page and my group.
(Update: Blogger hasn't fixed its problem with the "adult warning". Will go back to posting at my WordPress blog)

Friday, April 15, 2011

Majorca Flats -- 102

They'd arranged to meet a couple of streets away from The Lord Grey and Majorca Flats, and Jason had to walk. In this part of the city, the tram lines ran north-south, and there were none going east-west. But it was only a kilometre or so, at least according to the map Eleanor Cumberledge had lent him. He walked past nineteenth century factory buildings, so much more elegant than modern factories; tiny Victorian terrace houses, which must have once housed the factory workers and their families; grander Victorian or Edwardian mansions (probably for the factory workers' bosses); through streets lined with venerable elms, oaks and planes. Creepers (Honeysuckle, jasmine, and some he couldn't identify) grew in profusion over fences, and most of the minuscule front gardens were little forests, with Japanese maples, miniature palm trees, laurels, cotinus, Pride of India, and most of all, roses, in every conceivable colour except blue. From open doorways or windows there came music: rock; classical; jazz; some of it from recordings, but a few times it was live. He passed a window where he heard someone singing a solo from Rigoletto. If he hadn't heard her stop and repeat a section, he would have assumed it was a record, so perfect was the singing.

[Image from Australian Terrace Houses]

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