Somewhere, upstairs, there's a small artificial Christmas tree ...

I'm sitting on the sofa in the lounge of memory - 

My mum's watching Pointless - 

Anne's ironing tea towels - 

My dad's reading a Grisham he borrowed from the Day Centre - 

I remember how he used to read The Reprieve - 

Ah he'd say - Mathieu - he's the man - 

Now, the foxed Penguin Modern Classic is obscured by a Harlan Coben - 

On top of the gas fire I can see Bud Abbot's Christmas Card - 

Bud joined up with my dad - 

They were bold chippies together, watching RKO pictures in Babylonian temples, smoking Senior Sevice outside dance halls - 

In other cards are the gentle words of sisters - 

Somewhere, upstairs, there's a small artificial Christmas tree - 

17.35

Tuesday 8 December 2015

Staunton Road

Havant