February 2026
2.30 am on a school night. It’s been a while.
The taxi driver has the passenger side window open a crack, despite the winter weather. I’d like him to close it for me, but I prefer he keeps it open for him.
It’s been years since I came this way. It was once a regular route North, shooting up from Islington.
Up past Clissolds, the house for Simon Community volunteers, where N lived when we first met. It was fun – for a while – but it was never meant to be. There was a pub there called The Albion. I wrote an instrumental about it once, which later turned into a song. Not a particularly good one, so we never recorded it.
On to Turnpike Lane, where that relationship faltered and ended. Where I first looked for a flat share, before joining C in Archway.
I mourn the person and I mourn the youth. I think I know where the balance lies.
I used to drink more in both frequency and volume. Nowadays it’s worth saving for the nights that make it worth the subsequent pain. Most nights do not. This one I think does – at least that’s my hope, before the morning comes.