Low life | 3 May 2012

I arrived at the hilltop crematorium an hour early. The car park was empty and there wasn’t a soul about. Behind the low crematorium building the sky was black and threatening. I found the door to the gents’ lavatory to be unlocked, however, and the water in the tap above the hand basin unexpectedly hot. I used the facilities and as I washed my hands I leaned forward and stared at my face in the mirror.

I’d been to a party the night before. It was one of those depressing parties where the illegal drugs are taken secretly by a select few in a bedroom, and to be invited in is like being offered a seat in the House of Lords by a committee. I wasn’t invited in. My staple all night was lager. And because I was very tired, the lager had a soporific effect and I fell asleep in an armchair.