Croydon bore me; Coventry wrought me; Hull refined me; for twenty years I spun and changed. I was living in a rented room on the ring-road when things started. The newsman said it was a matter of years, not decades. All the phones rang. The girl in the room next to me crammed to try and ‘save the world’. There were dozens like her.
I saw policemen beating Somalis in the streets; in Haringey a six-year-old strangled her little brother while her mum was in Primark. The jobless homeless lifeless loveless sat on every kerbstone, in every alcove.
I didn’t know who I had left.
Then the June massacres, then the Architects, the Chevaliers, the war, and all the time I gazed out of my window at the beautiful bleach-blonde girl in the ice-cream parlour with Topshop glasses in her hair.
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