Saturday, 8 September 2007


Radio 2 played Kate Bush's Wuthering Heights. Heathcliffa heathcliff... strains wafted into the garden. Joanne, Heather and I were walking along the Regent's Canal towpath between pubs - we'd started at the Narrow Boat and wanted something to eat. Joanne was doing a very impressive impression of Kate Bush. I was joining in but had never realised that she was wailing Heathcliff before (doh). Heather was a bit annoyed by our caterwauling. Rude, I had thought at the time, but accurate.

My neighbour was sitting outside smoking a cigarette. The smell drifted across the garden - not a nose cringing cloud but a feint drift. It reminded me of when my mother would get home from work. From my room way up at the top of the house, with music playing, engrossed in work, I wouldn't hear her come in (soft door shutter). But the smell of her smoking a cigarette would drift up and alert me to her presence in the house. Time to go down and chat. My dad once told me he liked the feint smell of cigarette smoke in the house because it reminded him of her. I hadn't thought about it at the time.

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