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Right about now I reckoned Ralph would be stamping out his mission-from-god, daily crowd clearing path up Richmond Hill, holding up his precious object like a piece of the true cross. London has its ways, and some of those ways - the less trodden, the hidden and meandering - are now mine: and so I weaved my own way down.

You've not broken my heart this time.

it is a truth to me that is so really very weird. i can only explain to you if you speak to me. face to face.

a holiday poem.

Intended to be a light-hearted poem and not disrespectful!

On a good day I know, I'm not the full ticket; on a bad day I don't know my arse from my elbow. So I've been told, and so it is written; it must be true. I've learnt to live with it after a fashion, and I can tie my own shoelaces and count to ten, but for the sake of my head I stay off the maindrag. I was on a downward curve about then anyway, drifting like litter down side streets and alleyways, slipping into the empty, unused spaces, the long-untouched deserted houses; cracks in the city, cracks in between. London was a scary place for me.

Armies spend endless hours training people to follow orders without question. It's an essential quality in a soldier. In everyday life, however, things don't work that way. Business, political, and civic leaders have learned that ordinary people will perform exceptional tasks when they are asked-not ordered-to do so. Even when you are managing other people, you will achieve far more if you convert every order to a request. Introductory phrases such as, "Would you mind . . ." or "Could I ask your assistance in . . ." or the always effective "Please . . ." will ensure success far more often than intimidating those who work for you. And when you need help from those whose paychecks you do not control, you will find them far more responsive to requests than to orders.

He pins me with his stare. An urgent message on his cork board.

I'm on the shore.