At the far end stood number thirteen, looking out on this dull bit of South London with dirty, apathetic windows. The small front garden was an unruly cultivation of grasses boxed in by privet. The front gate seemed determined not to let her in but she’d got past better security in her time. Apri...
It was a sun-melted mix of Belgian chocolate and maple syrup, and the odds of him being able to stomach even a single lick more were not good. But what kid of 8 isn’t brave enough to try when ice cream of this quality is at stake? ‘When’s this thing get started?’ he heard his dad ask, shifting aw...
He had been unsure quite how much shoddy musical theatre he could stand before smashing his wine glass and digging out his eardrums with the stem. One of the very worst things about his marriage with Kathleen was her insistence on spending the majority of their time in the city. He would much pre...