I write about the good and bad angels we have sitting on each shoulder, about the strange creatures lurking at the periphery, about life and about death. And often I tango too.
This is a story inspired by my inexplicable loss of Maths knowledge as soon as I hit the age of fourteen.
I’m no good at Maths. If Barry Fischer knew, he’d fire me.
On Wednesdays Barry Fischer from the main branch in Croydon, comes round to run his eye over the administrative goings on at our little Branch of HomingU in Camberwell. There’s never anything for him to criticise but he’s done this for the last five years and no-one dares to tell him what a pompous ass he is. So I’ve got an arrangement with my nephew, Kieron. On Tuesday afternoons he stops by on his way home from school and sorts out my petty cash accounts, assesses the needs of the stationery cupboard, orders anything we’re running short of and keeps the accounting programme in order.
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