By Tracy Markham
Midas – Old Etonian
Mafia Boss – Sick Bacchus
Daughter – Statue
I often go back to that grey February morning. How I long for gray now..
We’d been snowed in for the best part of January. How quickly that white landscape turned to black sludge and even blacker skies looming low, portentous and unrelenting over the fens. It was a relief to get out of the village that day, be back in The City. I hopped in a cab at St Pancras, could’ve walked but didn’t want to get my Churchill brogues messed up did I , had them since ’77 you know. Trundling along we missed the turning and drove straight passed The Caravaggio. The cabbie had to do a u-turn. In my living and waking dreams we just carry on, we never make that turn. As if in slow motion, always in slow motion, we just carry on..
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