Well I’m in London for a while - if you can call this God forsaken spot London.
What can I do but stay calm and watch the flood?
Oh Lordy Lord.
It is at night that you know old fears, old hopes, that you know unhappiness, turning from side to side under the mosquito-net, like a prisoner in a cell full of small peepholes.
She knew the pain was going to start again. And, sure enough, it did.
Surely at the end of this long and glaring row of lamps she would find it, the friendly dark where she could lie and let her heart burst.
The monotonous buzz of conversation began again.
It was one of those days when you can see the ghosts of all the other lovely days. You drink a bit and watch the ghosts.
‘We don’t like her. We never talk to her. She spies on us. She is a camel.’