Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I’m 64?
– The Beatles
Trudy I’ve gone to my mum and she’s, well, she’s going to be all right. All right I suppose and getting back on with things. She somehow got stuck with this idea that her life was so much better with dad. I suppose it’s easy to get stuck that way. Mum’s past forty now and looks close to sixty. Life’s taken it’s toll on her. Dad put some away for her and she’s helping out in a dress shop in the main square. Funny, sometimes I think it’s funny that I write these things to you. If there is a heaven and you’re up there, and somehow I know you are, then it’s silly of me to tell of these things. You know don’t you? I suppose it’s my way of talking to you, always has been. Oh Blackfriar’s Bridge Trudy. It’s come to pass in many ways, the things I thought back then. Somehow there’s still a bit of something missing. I’ve seen a lot, done a lot. Bloody hell, I’m published in the New Yorker. What else could I want? At any rate love, I miss you dearly and please keep a special eye on mum. What’s it like in heaven love? I know that’s where you are. All sun, and treacle, and Shepherd’s Pie for you, you rolly little thing. I’m sorry love, you never were quite fat were you, it’s just fun to think of you glowing and smiling and chubby from too much treacle. Sweets for my sweety.