The Coast Road

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It had to happen sooner or later. The building in St Peters Lane where I’ve had my office for longer than I like to think about has come up for ‘restoration’. Read demolition maybe, with a retained facade. I knew the hammer was poised when my lease ran out and all I was offered was a fortnightly tenancy. I took it and hung on as long as I could, but the game’s up. The rent’s been cheap because of the condition of the joint. DDD, my ex and now late wife Cyn called it-dark, damp and dusty. And that was years ago. It’s had a few facelifts, paint jobs, rewiring, but the space had just become too potentially valuable to accommodate tenants like me.

We held a party-Stephanie Geller, astrologer, Frank Corso, antiquarian bookseller, Lucille Harvey, genealogist, Donald Carver, philatelist, Henri Baden, numismatist and a few others, some of whom imported and exported, and me. Strictly cheap wine casks, paper cups, Salada biscuits, cheese slices.

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