Cabs, Brooklyn

I remember I said in the last post that I would blog up another of my travelling sister’s pictures. In the last post, I erroneously suggested that the cabs weren’t yellow in Brooklyn, but as you can see here, my mistake. Still, the whole set-up looks pretty groovy and hip to me.

Which brings me to a slow-dawning realisation I’ve been having – the opposite of hip and probably excruciatingly embarrassing if you are related to me: I want to be a cowboy. For an awfully long time I thought I wanted to have a gypsy lifestyle, but the truth is I’m just not hardy enough for all year round. I am however determined to spend a day travelling in a vardo and a night camped out this year. Determined, I tell you! I’ve come to the conclusion I’ve been getting my itinerant lifestyles all mixed up because I really don’t dress like a Romany, but lately I’ve been even going to work in my gold cowboy boots… with tweed trews. I know it’s wrong, but I really don’t care. Plus there’s the oversized cowboysbag. All I need now is the belt, the horse and the hat. It’s all fitting together in my head now, and when I go to Devon next – I’m gonna wear a stetson and probably be disowned.

After I’ve been wanderlusting in Cumbria this year, I might take me a trip to a ranch in Montana – for the big skies and the horses and the cattle. If I see a rattlesnake though I will just die. It sounds a bit like the start of a poor country song (in my head anyway) but I haven’t got any music for you today, just these cabs.

Joni Mitchell anyone?

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