Somewhere, further North from where I sit, supine and content in my armchair, somewhere out there, beyond my still drawn curtains, and far beyond the streets of Smethwick on this Saturday afternoon, is a world I’ll never know.
Out there is the summertime greenery of Turnberry, up in Aberdeen, where the wind blows in from the sea, and the Moonworts and Coralroot Orchids sway gently in its wake, an old, bear-like white man, wearing a white baseball cap emblazoned with the letters U-S-A on it, strides purposefully across the green.
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