Even depression these days is branded in London. Mine is delivered as a blank parcel to the mind, its contents an image of the Hanger Lane Gyratory...
In the warm cabin, The girl swept the crepe mixture round the circular griddle like a World War II radar. The other side of the counter, the air was crisp and cold.
Boxing Day at Stansted; each expression is the scab-picked wound of a Christmas too quickly spent.
“It’s fine, my boy – Mummy’s treatment is a game of Space Invaders very nearly won.”