Written on a platform at Durham train station, 21/01/11. I don't ever want to feel like this again.
There's a girl at the table to my right, curled up in her chair and retreating into a bottle-green hoody like a snail. She must be at least my age, yet she's clutching a soft toy penguin.
"In a daze of lavender oil and mirtazapine dreams, I go looking for her. Having wandered on the wrong side of the River Wear for weeks"
In all our fanciful talk of crisp, white bed sheets, Romania, and teaching English, I never thought to mention we would call our son 'Ted'