He has it in his front room (though his house is really too grand to have anything that could be called a front room, perhaps salon is better). And, the drawn blind makes it all frosted and blurred. It’s a beautiful tree, elegant and refined and I needed to see it as I walked out this morning leaning on my stick like a wounded soldier.
The usual flood of ex-party goers poured up Northgate Street and I hobbled into the road to avoid them. A straggler lagged behind, a very very tall boy, eating pizza from a take-away box.
I walked down to the end of South Road before turning right so that I could see the string of lights and say hello to the blow-up Santa, who I think I shall call Steven. Then, oh what a joy, I saw the yacht. It was lit up with lines of fairy lights, just beautiful. Walking homeward, and so so slowly, there was a running man coming towards me. It always throws me such things, my hackles rise and my heartbeat quickens. He passed me without event. Of course.
And the other battles with SP and so on. Leave it to me, he says. Leave it to me.
