Elaine is a northerner and she is happy when Manchester United win a football match. “How are we this morning?” she said, perkily. “We need to change these sheets, don’t we?"
‘Shots.’ ‘Not tequila. Tequila makes me ill.’ ‘No, tequila’s awesome.’ ‘Sambuca?’ ‘I hate aniseed.’
I hold my arm aloft. The GP, a well-spoken man in his fifties, tells me ‘it’s only a bruise’. ‘Why won’t it go, then?’
I could laze here among the weeds of the garden for a thousand years. Irene waters her roses next door, looking at me askance. I know you’re watching me Irene because I’m watching you.