It seemed to so odd today to be researching the Kray twins again. I’ve spent the day back amongst the interview tapes I first made as a naïve 17-year-old for my first published piece. The ghost voices of long-dead gangsters mixing with the voice of a young man I can hardly recognise. Yet here we are, joined by this equal distance of time at different points on the wheel of Boethius.
I can’t feel Christmas this year. No stocking to fill, no AM to try and delight. Without her love there doesn’t seem to be anything to celebrate. There have been too many tears today to produce any words, so I’m here alone with the sound of the dead and only the words of Boethius for comfort.
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