I remember the way you lifted the glinting, silver pendant like a trapdoor - surprised to find a mark the metal had carved into my skin...
Wotcher stranger! Remember me? Yes, I am talking like a born and bred southerner already. No more ‘blooooke’ or ‘poooost box’ – I’ve learnt to speak properly...
One, final ritual, before the 'Big Push' - 'Le Grand Départ...' I carefully remove all the posters, photos and cards from my bedroom walls.
We find ourselves huddled on a bench, by the Thames, opposite Big Ben - his bright, white face mirrored, not only in the river, but in the moon, pastelled onto a cloud at his side.