“When the Devil came he was not red / he was chrome and he said / come with me”
Scrolling through Instagram the other night I came across a picture on the account of an old friend. The glossy perfection of the image perplexed me.
“JACARANDA!”
“BB”, as my mum was affectionately known when engaged in her vocation as a grandmother, could transform car trips during Sydney’s riotous Jacaranda season into travelling ‘I-spy-with-my-little-eye’ festivals for her grandkids.
I was discussing artwork with my bearded friend Kris Morris the other day, and as is his way, he cut straight to quick.