So I try to work out what I think and I try to work out what I feel and I realise I think nothing and feel nothing I could possibly be proud of next year. Or even tomorrow.
And this is what they want.
And I don’t want to do what they want. Continue reading »
Blue, fluffy, two sizes two small, I wore it every morning for a while, looking like a very small, uncertain IRA man, though I like to think now I made balaclavas cool long before terrorists did. Bafflingly, its unbelievable itchiness, its Napoleonic harshness, the way it made me almost unrecognisable but only almost, the way in which it attracted attention and invited ridicule for its anti-style, its anti-elegance – even in 1970, even in Enfield – meant I hated it. Continue reading »
He just appeared out of nowhere one summer. I was staying at my grandparents’ house and, a week or so after getting there, I went to bed as usual, nothing on the locker next to me except The Tottenham Hotspur Football Annual 1969 and a yellow beaker of lemonade. Continue reading »
