Cool fingers tread carefully on my skin, circling the black hole of my navel. And those eyes are suspended above me like two strange stars in the murky galaxy of my bedroom.
I understood that Grandpa had been a militant Liberal Democrat who would have painted himself yellow and run naked though the streets of Shipley for the cause.
(Written on my phone, November 27th, 4:30pm) I wonder what people did before they could stare broodingly out of train windows... Wrote poetry, I suppose.
Just an archetypal, middle-class life with a dark-haired lawyer husband who looks remarkably like Ed Stoppard... OK, maybe an accountant who looks like Martin Freeman.