• Before the cock crowed they sat you down for one last supper, I’d followed every feint and weave across a Formica television stand, peerless on luminous grass. What sweet betrayal it was… that sting of yellow, those sobs, those broken-hearted sobs – a lion in the night.
  • Crabbed in his concrete bunker watching the bad go to worse, ‘the gaffer’ draws on his last cigarette, wincing as his name is barracked down tiers and jeered along terraces, his fate knotted in a walnut boardroom signed in a cigar’s smoke. The Mediterranean lad, his unpronounceable six-figure hope, makes a last-ditch, floodlit sally into […]