Moving – White Meat

Frankfurt

Nathan’s rules were, ‘no orgies, no meat’. So, no cock, no comfort.

I discover my family lied about my mother’s funeral so I wouldn’t fly back for it. I’m beginning to think they aren’t nice people.

I was as nervous as a whippet. Leaving London, leaving England, filled me with fear.

He’d tell me fragments about himself, but not much more. He was like a 1,000 piece jigsaw puzzle to which I’d only found the corners.

I ran to the bathroom more times than a teenage bulimic. I’m not used to all this emotion.

I have a memory of a group of us dancing on a pontoon on the lake one Friday night that I think about if ever I need to reduce my blood pressure.

He said he’d had a headache, and had to pack, but I knew that it was love that had made him a liar.

She said she’d visited my father’s grave and told him my news. He was, I understand, thrilled by it.

At the launderette, an elderly man took off his trousers, put them into the dryer without washing them. He sat on a chair and offered me a cigarette.

We’re drunk and happy, and howl into the night, like wolves in the forest.

Israelis, in case you don’t know, aren’t great at customer relations.

It was like the movers hadn’t packed me, they’d archived me.