Favourite expression I taught to a child “close but no cigar”. She knows it means almost not quite – but cigar remains a mystery word, perhaps one day she’ll understand and it will make even less sense. The dream last night, Van Morison and his love, 30 years ago acting in a musical and Kevin Spacey guest appearing as intoxicated extra. I don’t invest too much into the interpretation department but love how many aspects of dreams I can’t trace and just finishing a book called Trace by Lauret Savoy. Nature book / memoir. Stings when you read her account about old maps and racist names for many places. She’s African American and traces the terrain and offensive conditions her mother occupied as a younger nurse in Arizona. What is reflected about landscape and why, who decides what to call something, who is erased. Also conjures up Bach teachers, different insistences abut the rules though Monsieur Bach is dead and can’t confirm or negate their authority as if they wrote it. Who to insert their tape loops into a young mind. Who allowed Glen Gould to find his own way to intersect it differently? Give them a cigar.