Fuddland

I’m quite surprised I’ve not got a more vivid memory of being born, seeing it was only yesterday. At least, that was my inference from the thirteen-year-old girl with train-track braces who asked me to purchase cigarettes “for her Mum” from the shop that refused to serve her.

Still, the good news is, as her body is ravaged by cancer or her diseased heart struggles to pump blood containing oxygen-deficient red blood cells, she won’t be able to see the faces of those who care for her.