Anything, Everything

God, if you got me writing there’d be no holding it back, there’s too much feeling. About my life, about men, and poverty, pain and laughs I’ve had—cancer, I suppose. You’re always seeing these memoirs about people with fatal diseases. Maybe not. And anger—what’s done to you. Manchester Council and its holier-than-thou Asbos against women earning a living, walking the street, doing what they can to get by—I’d write about that if they’d let me. But always, always, my beautiful daughter. Her eyes, her laughter, her pure skin. Anyway. I’ll try. See you all tomorrow, then, Clary, everybody.