my dear, i wanted to tell you

‘How have you been?’ he murmured, after a while.
‘Cold and lonely,’ she said, with a little laugh.
They walked on.
‘Well,’ said Riley.
Then, ‘How have you been?’ she said.
‘In Hell,’ he replied. Their steps matched, muffled, as they turned towards the Broad Walk. ‘Only we’re not allowed to say.’
They walked.
Warm hands.
‘Who would have thought,’ she said, ‘that this is what we would be?’
He suddenly recalled a postcard he had received as a child, from a friend whose family had gone to Canada: ‘I am six now. Are you any older?’
He smiled, looking down. They walked on.
‘Cup of tea?’ he said. ‘Lyons? Or have you turned into one of those beer-drinking war girls? Do you need a sharp one at the Ram? Or a pink gin at the Kensington Close?’
She laughed a little. ‘Cup of tea,’ she said, and began to cry.


you expose the film in me – we’re drawing rings around the world.

Time is passing terrifyingly quickly. I’m one who avoids clichéd conversation about the effects of daylight saving or the fact that it’s windy out, but I just can’t help falling for the old adage that time passes more quickly as you get older – because it does. I blinked and missed January; my February is already spoken for; my 2016 is filling up fast. All I can do is make sure I’m soaking up the good stuff. Good food, people, places and books. On which note, I’m currently reading Ruth Ozeki’s A Tale For The Time Being (obsessed), we’re off to Berlin next week (third time lucky), and we can’t stay away from Tottenham’s Chicken Town (no, really – can’t stay away). Hopefully I’ll catch you again before February’s out.