The fluidity of a fridge: Misadventures in flamenco
The guitarist dragged his fingers across the strings. Around the circle, men in high-backed wooden chairs started clapping against…
I was putting my mascara on and singing loudly to the radio when Julia materialised. I say materialised, because I have never seen Julia walk through a door. Rather, whenever I need her, she simply manifests herself, like a cross between Dr Spock and a sand eel.
Damnit, one paragraph in and I have come a cropper already.