Night-time surprises...

March 17, 2014

So I do believe I left you all wonderin' about The Door...


For a long time, just like my grandpa, I didn't know what it was for. Oh, I knew it was special alright - and maybe he did too, maybe that's why he showed it to me - but I didn't know why.


Then one day, winter came. I remember it clear as, because it was one of those years when winter comes suddenly.


I went to sleep and London was it's foggy wet autumn self. I'd had a long hard day buying low and selling not much higher, scratchin' a living in the rags and bones and broken furnishings of London, and was very much lookin' forward to settlin' in front of a cosy fire with a bowl of cheap soup, toastin' bread on a fork, leafin' through an old copy of Grimm's and gradually drinking myself asleep in my broken old armchair. This I did, with my customary aplomb for the pursuit of the sedentary, but entirely uncharacteristically awoke in the small hours freezin' my skinny arse off.


The fire'd burnt low to a few sleepy embers in a blanket of ash and was barely enough to keep the hearth warm, let alone me toes. My dozing eyes wondered to the scabby window pane and there, in the dirty streetlight, was snow! And not your icy drizzle of early December, but proper, fluffy, fuzzy blanket-snow, deep as your ankles and still falling! No wonder I couldn't feel me fingers! So I got to my frozen unsteady feet, intendin' to wobble my way to the filthy pile of rags I affectionately call my bed, breath fogging in the chill of the room, when I noticed something amiss with the rickety sideboard that held on its shelves the few precious things that I liked to see about me each day...

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That sideboard...

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