Come on” she said, pulling me by the hand through the crowds “It will be romantic” “No Jenny, I can’t, I hate heights they make me feel sick” “Oh don’t be such a ninny,” she replied. “I will look after you.” “You don’t understand, I just can’t” The wobble in my voice pulled her up…
It was the sound of my childhood. Every night I would lie in bed and listen to my Mother in the tiny little box room next to mine writing away on her typewriter. The distinct thump of the keys as she worked was so familiar to me that when I finally left home for university…
Who’s Talkin’