I woke up in Richard's house feeling surprisingly well - I'd gulped down a formidable number of bumpers the night before, as well as tumblers of Glenmorangie - then there were the real ales quaffed in edgy pubs - I remembered nothing of the taxi journey at three in the morning -
I leaned forward, pushing back the duvet - a book by Obama caught my eye on the bedside table - I dressed quickly, shaving as though I was a frontovik with no time to spare -
Downstairs, Richard was considering placing his first bets of the day - in icy stables, noble horses fretted, their muscles rippling under their sleek skin -
Phil suggested we go for breakfast in the Country Pantry - it then suddenly occurred to me that my arms felt ten feet long - I felt as though I had been savagely and secretly beaten - I wanted to drink a small swimming pool of fresh tomato juice -
My spirits lifted momently in the cafe - there were no brutal taxi drivers here, sitting at their special table - it was not assumed that I wanted tinned tomatoes -
Phil spoke of his imminent flight to Bangkok - he was not especially happy about returning, though playing cricket there would be some consolation -
Later, I went round to pick up my Kindle from Tessa - she was sharing a house north of Fratton Bridge - as always, her brilliant smile made me feel happy -
After I'd seen her, I looked at Newcome Road - my mum and dad had lived there, a world ago - now, those days when he was a young were even more precious to my dad -
I thought I saw him, bright eyed and quick, flying up the road on his bike - my mum was on her way to the laundry, to supervise the brawny women -
They were both like shy angels, hidden from common eyes -
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