Debussy at Zu

It’s the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting. — Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

WynnAlice had a dream, she was to spend six moons walking from village to town, town to village, collecting tales, telling tales, these tales to be collected in a great book known as Tales of Our Times, a great book of thirteen chapters and thirteen copies, there being thirteen moons in a year.

Six moons in the planning, WynnAlice set off one spring morn from the town that was not too big and not too small, shod on her feet in a pair of red flip flops from Brazil, and wearing only what she could carry on her back.

After many days walking, many adventures, many stories to be writ in the great book, WynnAlice now finds herself in Brighton, the town of two piers, only one now lies derelict.

Had WynnAlice ventured behind her Georgian resting place on the seafront of Hove, she would have found a wondrous food emporium, Taj the greengrocer.

Not far inland from Brighton Pier, North Laine, narrow streets, individual shops of character, and another wonderful food emporium, Infinity Foods, a co-operative venture of many years, where in the summer, in the adjacent streets, local folk hold street parties, and make strangers welcome.

Lewis, another town, not too big, and not too small, and like the town from whence WynnAlice came, it too its own local currency, the Lewis Pound.

Festivals are places of music, celebration, of coming together and telling tales.

More tales told, more tales collected for the great book.

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