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Each day I make a sojourn. The library, the post office, the corner shop supermarket. People think they know me. There goes that old lady with the hat pulled over her glasses. The stooped one, the grim one, the frail …

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I’ve been sporting my bins a while now. A matter of months and they’ve not steamed up once. This concerns me. I thought that I lived a Carry On life, one with a fair dash of sauce, but not once …

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The sunshine slaps my shadow across Hanbury Street.
There’s a skip to my step as the latest old song
Grabs me by the ears and snogs me hard
And London is in loooooove.
The slivers strewn and the sick spewn…

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She wasn’t really my aunt. Maybe her name wasn’t really Doris, I don’t know. She was one of my mother’s friends, and my mother had lots of friends. They’d come over, drink, blab. Usually the party went on all night. …

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