London’s Molten Hour

Bye, bye, people. I’ll call you later. Are you going home now? To all the dusty rented rooms, nasty pine furniture with walls on other people’s flushing toilets, Skype calls and rhythmic thuds they try to obscure with loud beats of an album on repeat. Another aeroplane. A train. We reside near transport under a

Would you ever live in Heather Green?

Would you ever live in Heather Green with a lamp missing a tassle from its shade? Lit tealights in the glass holders on the rented windowsill occasionally Assam from loose leaves in a pot. Would that be a life to live? Where there’s no need to mow lawns on a Saturday because you own no

Is it worth it?

Grass grows to an unruly height. It makes the lawn untidy. Restore order, with its low rumble. First it breaks a Saturday lie-in. It leaves clippings to be swept up. Give it a few weeks, once more green blades will jiggle their blue, sun applause. — Over a year ago I was asked for my