I should never have left him alone in my bedsit. He fell asleep with a fag and the duvet began to smoulder. The tenant upstairs came downstairs cause she smelled the burning. She banged on the door to wake him so he would put it out.
I was at work, the tenant didn’t like that she’d found a man in my room and told landlord Mr Conway who ticked me off with a large gin and tonic.
I had to buy a new duvet, but worse of all, that very same morning, he’d stretched and torn the black satin French knickers Ray (No. 24)’s father had given me. I couldn’t forgive him for that, the only memorabilia of my first love – in tatters. This bought up the dead finches Hiroshima and Nagasaki all over again. I became really sad about Ray and Fraser (second love No. 31), the anger I left with the upstairs tenant and my legs became more numb and my fingers wouldn’t work so I couldn’t play keyboards with the ‘Purple People Eaters’ any more.
Bring on No. 43