Making soup again

These days I refuse to sigh for cooked up futures. Potatoes from a friend and a bag of mixed root veg for £1 assure companionship. This bounty grated, cooked with stock and bay leaves, will be ladled out for half-a-dozen bowls dressed up with haricot beans. The appraising birds perch in the top bare branches,

118A Creighton Avenue

Behind cardboard boxes, I’m in the corner. Leaning on a cushion, I’m in the dark. Potatoes are humming rich smells from the oven. Getting the girls to bed: they have to be given a bottle each; it’s tea and bath before. When they’ve gone to sleep The grownups eat tired potatoes at 9pm. It’s always