Which is only relevant because I am sitting in that blue room in Archway. Which hasn't been blue for at least ten years, since Mr P bought the house from Martin Carr, lead singer of the Boo Radleys. Who left a note, the parting words of which were "Take care of the blue room, and she will treat you well."
She has treated us so, so well, Martin. We have loved and lived and fought and fucked in this room. And selling it has been hard.
But the pain of yours truly, the most immature cow on the planet, has been somewhat alleviated by the fact that predictive text characterises her new hood as "Crotch End" ...
From "Mockingbird" to "Mockery" in sixteen seconds. Surely there's an award for that?
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