They were all out in their finery, though it was a little awry by the time I saw them. There was a bat girl and a superwoman standing outside the Tesco Express looking extremely unwell. Bless her. Her crown was all skewed. Not sure where the fancy dress party had been held, probably in one of the clubs though Halloween is still a day away. Students were everywhere, sitting on benches along the Prom and wandering home. Bits of their conversation filters through the air. One boy was sitting with two girls on a bench. I can’t believe it, he said, I’ve only one fag left. What a joke! You are a fag, said one of the girls, to which the other one snorted. Another lad was talking loudly to his mate as they walked past me. We could play poker, he was saying. Yes, at 12 we could do a bit of gambling and have a drink and then…. I passed the milkman delivering in St David’s Road as I walked out, way before 3 am. Two bottles, one silver top and one blue top, were sitting outside our neighbour’s front door when I returned. Milk bottles are blast from the past for me. That’s all there was. That noise of them clanging together. So nice.
Everywhere is like everywhere else, said the poet Gwyneth Lewis on a programme I’ve heard many times before about the island of Lundy. I think I know what she means.
She walks like an albatross someone said of Simone Weil. She was not of this world. Yes.
Must dash. Off to get the piece photographed. Cold today. Made chocolate for him and a coffee for me. He sits in his dressing gown. The flat is cold. No time to get cosy. Later.