Sunday, 11 December 2016


Poor Besiktas...I cannot count how many times I have walked that road where the latest bombing atrocity just happened. Macka Park was my stamping ground, a  rare green lung in a city already choking with cars, with people, with despair.

When I speak to my Turkish friends, they are not afraid. They are angry. Furious even.  And I agree with them. I could probably circle a date in the calendar from last year when the wheels were put in motion for last night's carnage. Turkey is being destroyed.  My poor beloved lady. She makes my heart race like no other city on earth, save for Damascus - a disturbing pattern is forming here I fear.

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