The lunchtime rush has long since subsided, I have plenty of tables to choose from. Alone at a low table for two in my favourite coffee house, a welcome respite from the daily grind, I relax into my upholstered chair with a copy of the evening paper. My eyes flick between stories of international tragedy, financial uncertainty and society parties. This place is so familiar to me; I can easily tune out the irregular sounds...

Reed is a lover, a bounder, a rake, Where hearts are wanting, he’s there on the take. In low conversations of hearts in need, Whispered enquiries: “Have you tried Reed?” Effortless grace and boundless urbanity;  He thinks of himself, a gift to humanity. This little boy blue will blow your horn, A smile to wear for one's rivals to scorn. Simple gratification with minimal fuss,  A tick in your box, a thumbs up from us. Don’...

Her heels clacked as she strode purposefully across the parquet floor of the small, independent art gallery. It was late morning, midweek in early November and she almost had the place to herself. She had plenty of time and space to enjoy any of the exhibits, but she was there for just one small photograph.  "Une fleur de Créteil", Emile LeFevre, Daguerreotype, Paris 1847 revealed the sign beside the velvet-lined case con...