It was at a service station somewhere in the North West when I said to Hannah, “Are we going to Liverpool?”
And she said yes, that was the destination of our surprise weekend away. And it made sense, because every once in a while I’d said “Yeah, I went to university there. I really should go back sometime. Did I ever mention that I seriously considered living there permanently?”
“Margaret Thatcher (1983)” by Rob Bogaerts / Anefo – Nationaal Archief
My brother and I tried to explain to a throng of youngsters at band rehearsal on Monday. But they didn’t understand! How could they? Sometimes I don’t understand it myself. Sometimes I look back, and I think to myself: how could a thing like this happen? In my lifetime? In the UK?
A quick glance over her shoulder, and Angharad saw the shadows of the men appear far behind them.
“We have to hurry!”, she shouted, but by now their horse was utterly exhausted and their pace was slowing. Without saying a word, Matthew took the stern rope in his hand, pulled himself up and over the roof of the boat with the other, and jumped onto the path. He spun around, wrapping the rope across his torso, and then he hooked it over his shoulder and pulled. His dark face crumpled into a frown as his back hunched over and he forced his way forward; his bulk now another stumbling dark shape against the reddening sky. Continue reading →