or

Dave Grenfell

Fully recovered

Dave Grenfell Dave Grenfell

It was dark in the city; dark and cold. No hang on it was night. That explains it. Should have put a cardie on. It was night in the city; the city of London. The breathing, living, smuggy, foggy, polluted, shooty, stabby, centre of south east England with a tendency to ignore the rest of the country, yes, this was his home. And it was night. Soon, in a mere few hours, it would be day. And then it would be warmer, and also lighter, and people could walk around without bumming people. Those were the bad times. But this was London, capital of England, arse end of Europe, a modern irrelevancy, unimportant in the global scale of things, self important, inflated, ready to burst and die like the property market, lurching and stumbling like a drunk, an old drunk, not a nice young drunk with breasts and knickers, but an old drunk with nary a breast in view. Hello my name's David, and I like sports and tea.