In error my young father, born in Russia, descended into Liverpool thinking everyone would speak French. Realising this was not Le Havre he quickly learnt English with a strange scouse accent. My young mother worked at the Pier Head in the café where all the buses came and went. This has all gone now. About a year later I was born on the Crosby sands when they’d gone for a picnic and completely mis-timed my arrival. At school, re-taking some exams, the new English teacher, inspired by my stoicism, gave me a book to read. It was ‘Clockwork Orange’. Three years later I walked into Lewis’s store on Ranelagh Street to have my usual cigarette and coffee with the rest of the lads while we waited for the slow train. Before I ascended the escalator to the top floor café I noticed this man in a large coat looking along the books on the shelves. It was Adrian Henri. I walked over and perused the books nearby watching him make a choice. My attention was caught by a strange cover showing a sketch of four characters in a line. One of them was a cat holding a gun, the title announced ‘The Master and Margarita’. I took it with me and followed Adrian to the cash till.
Four years later I was living with a girl in Bootle. She had a collection of books. And so on .. And so on .. And so on … so it goes .. poo-tee-weet .. I will use my mother’s name.
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