Something made me turn my head. A sound? A movement? I couldn’t be sure. Whatever it was, it had stopped my journey home, my reverie. I stood on the deserted pavement and looked around. It was nearly 3 o’clock in the morning and the last car to pass me, in either direction, had been ten minutes ago. I unscrewed the top of the half-bottle of Jameson’s Whiskey and swigged the familiar liquid. I was pissed. I was alone. Years later, looking back, it has become apparent just how alone. I put the bottle back in the pocket of my Greatcoat and trudged on. I had left the pub early, the sound of Thin Lizzy ringing in my ears. The walk to the train station took twenty minutes. I had been walking for nearly an hour. I was lost.

The pub was in Shepperton, one change on the train from where we lived. In other words, an effort. But an effort worth making. We had heard that there was this pub, The Ship, that was suddenly playing great music on a Friday night, a few weeks earlier. We had ventured over to the unfamiliar surroundings 3 Fridays on the trot. This » Continue Reading.