Emma pressed her hands against her ears, and asked herself some fundamental questions. Why am I here? Am I really making a difference? Why cant she put some clothes on? What is that smell? Where do I want to be right now? She wanted to be in Rome, wi
Dexter didnt like to think of himself as vain, but there were definitely times when he wished there was someone on hand to take his photograph. They kissed again, and he wondered vaguely if there was some moral or ethical dimension to this situation.
And how is Rome? How is La Dolce Vita? (look it up). I imagine you right now at a caf table, drinking one of those cappuccinos we hear so much about, and wolf-whistling at everything. Youre probably wearing sunglasses to read this. Well take them off
In the Piazza della Rotunda, Dexters mother sat at a caf table, a novel held loosely in one hand, her eyes closed and her head tilted back and to the side like a bird to catch the last of the afternoon sun. Rather than arrive straightaway, Dexter too
She still carried with her that aura of having been something-in-the-Sixties Dexter had seen the photographs, the clippings from faded colour supplements but with no apparent sadness or regret she had given this up for a resolutely respectable, secur
Wheres Dad? Hes had to go for one of his little lie-downs at the hotel. The heat, and his sandals were chafing. You know what your fathers like, hes so Welsh. So what have you been doing? Just wandering around the Forum. I thought it was beautiful, b
What girl? Pretty, earnest, Northern. Got drunk and shouted at your father about the Sandinistas. That was Emma Morley. Emma Morley. I liked her. Your father liked her too, even if she did call him a bourgeois fascist. Dexter winced at the memory. I
He wasnt much of a writer, knew little about politics, spoke bad restaurant-French, lacked all training and qualifications, possessed only a passport and a vivid image of himself smoking beneath a ceiling fan in tropical countries, a battered Nikon a
until finally it was over, and she stood and straightened her face.Dexter, I am so, so sorry . . . Im actually much better now. know you are, Im sorry. I apologise. They began to walk again. You must do it, Dexter, if thats what you want. She squeeze
She took hold of his arm and they began walking slowly again.I just want you to make me proud, thats all. I mean Im already proud of you, and your sister, but, well, you know what I mean. Im a little drunk. Lets change the subject. I wanted to talk t
ATTENTION PLEASE! Can I have your attention? Some attention if you dont mind? If you could listen? Dont throw things, listen please? Please? ATTENTION, PLEASE? Thank you. Scott McKenzie settled on his bar stool and looked out at his team of eight sta
When we started STC (Sledgehammer Theatre Co-operative) we were really keen to set up a progressive theatrical collective with none of that ego-fame-getting-on-thetelly-ego-showing-off bullshit, and just do really good, exciting original political de
I mean they had loads of radical theatre in Germany in the Thirties and look what a difference that made. Were going to banish colour prejudice from the West Midlands, even if we have to do it one child at a time. There are four of us in the cast. Kw
Part One 19881992 Early Twenties That was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. But, it is the same with any life. Imagine one selected day struck out of it and think how different its course would have been. Pause, you who read thi
Where did the muscles come from? Certainly not sporting activity, unless you counted skinny-dipping and playing pool. Probably it was just the kind of good health that was passed down in the family, along with the stocks and shares and the good furni
Course if its any consolation well all be dead in a nuclear war long before then! she said brightly, but still he was frowning at her. Maybe I should go then. If Im so shallow and corrupt No, dont go, she said, a little too quickly. Its four in the m
In his last four years he had seen any number of bedrooms like this, dotted round the city like crime scenes, rooms where you were never more than six feet from a Nina Simone album, and though hed rarely seen the same bedroom twice, it was all too fa
From the bathroom came the warning rattle and bang of an ancient toilet cistern, and he hurriedly replaced the book, finding beneath the bed a small yellow Colmans mustard tin that he flipped open to confirm that, yes, it did contain condoms, along w
Thats that, he thought. Nothing was less conducive to sexual desire than a long black political t-shirt, except perhaps that Tracy Chapman album. Resigned, he picked her degree certificate off the floor, rolled the elastic band along the length of th
What, this you mean? She squeezed his hand. Oh, I expect so. Dont know yet, do I? Ask me in the morning. Why, have you? He pressed his mouth against the top of her head. ourse not, he said, and thought this must never, ever happen again. Pleased with
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