Early to mid October 2025, still London, still autumn, still Somewhere (have started a new footnote definitions kinda thing for the newcomers and the confused, so stay with me ‘til the end, will ya?)

Some time last week (coulda been any day, really, ‘cause I’m always hungover) I crawled downstairs for a mid-morning cuppa earl grey tea. Padded barefoot onto those terrible musty floorboards and looked to the sofa where laid a boy - well, man, I suppose - I’d never before seen. He jolted awake and looked up at me all unsure and afraid like young Mary woulda done to Archangel Gabriel when he announced God had (miraculously; sexlessly) knocked her up but I was just too hungover to work up a proper bother about it. Him. The stranger asleep in the kitchen.