Hoar Frost

i.m. John Hume There are days I am back there, Six years old, with my sibling, damp haired, at the open fire, on beanbags (one Superman, one Victoria Plum). We are swaddled in blankets, cereal bowls loaded with Maltesers, Fruit Pastilles and Cadbury’s Buttons. I’m craving the A team, my brother Knightrider. BA Baracus won’t … Continue reading Hoar Frost