I know texting you is a violation of the injunction, but I am almost literally on fire. I’m sitting in the bathtub, breathing through a wet washcloth. I called 999; I don’t think they’ll make it in time.
I never apologised. I wonder if I’d apologised, we’d be in this mess. I would still have hit you, though. I wish I hadn’t hit you. You should see me now – anger management has turned me into a new man. I wish you could have seen him.
So, I’m only texting to tell you that you’ve nothing to fear from me anymore.
It’s just gone 7am and you are thinking about waking up. You are questioning the music selection on the BBC 6Music Breakfast Show – how are you supposed to wake up to this subdued stuff? It’s 7:11, it’s January, you don’t need gloom.
You’ve got plenty of gloom yourself.
And then Shaun Keaveny says the words which do two things: justify the musical mood and wake you up with a jolt. You heard that wrong. It can’t be true.
You let it sink in.
And you wonder: Will he sing Under Pressure with Freddie again?
You’d like to think so.
Let’s all thank our lucky stars that we were – for a while at least – alive at the same time as David Bowie.
I enter the China Boat. The waitress leads me to our table and brings me a pot of jasmine tea. She leaves me to study the menu even though we both know what I will order.
I’m keeping up our tradition: China Boat every Friday after payday. It’s still not easy, what with all the memories tied up with the place: Frank proposed here, I told him I was expecting and he finally confessed he’d seen the doctor about his headaches. He made me promise to keep coming after he’s gone.
It’s not easy, but a promise is a promise.
No, I haven’t forgotten that I’m supposed to be writing 100-word stories rather than poems. This one is for this week’s FFfAW.