Canter Bridge

You haven’t seen rain until you’ve raced through one of these tropical downpours, water in the street rushing at your leg above the sock level. Everywhere else in the world, rain falls. Here it is thrown down from some preternatural height at unnatural speed. It’s a wonder the whole country doesn’t wash away. Occasionally a chunk of it does, leaving a reddish slit where simple houses once stood, and a row of coffins amid grieving relatives in the morning paper three days later.
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You always cringe a little when you see a dozen suited-up athletes waiting for the same flight on which you ambitiously intended to get five hours of work and rest accomplished. When people tell you, in apologetic syllables, that your schedule is really full this weekend, you smile and respond, ‘I can always sleep on the plane’.

Now you wonder whether you can. (more…)

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The French surname ‘Janvier’ rattles around in Jack’s family pedigree like a classy cousin in a yawningly ordinary clan. When he went to Latin America, he had the wit to co-opt it and twist it into a Spanish first name that was every bit as appealing. Thus Jack became ‘Javier’, a cunning use of the available materials that brings wry smiles to those few of us who know the story. To the rest, he is just Javier and always has been. (more…)

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