“I remember when this field were nowt but car parks,” I said in my put on northern accent.
She smiled in her odd, foreign way and I knew that I’d made no sense to her whatsoever.
We are in a car park. What are you talking about? I could see this written on her face but said nothing as she kept her arm looped in mine.
We walked slowly, way behind Petra and Andy.
England was missing when I tried to picture it, which was less often than I’d expected. When I did think of home I’d get stuck on the words blade grass until all I could see was a field of razors.
I held on to the image of my friend seeing me off in London before I jumped the tube to the airport. He shook my hand and told me to enjoy my plane crash.