Kindle Notes & Highlights
It was where Philip Larkin had made his home, writing the poetry that told of life in a cold, grey Northern city. I’d only read his poems after leaving. Maybe I’d always needed that distance to start understanding what made the place tick.
My wife had died in a house fire, something I’d largely managed to put behind me. If it was locked away at the back of my mind, it couldn’t damage me any further. That was my theory, but it was always being tested.
I could see it had changed since I called it home. Five years was both the blink of an eye and enough time for it all to appear out of focus.
I was guided me away
It’s typical of you, charging in without a thought for others or the consequences.’
idealistic as best.
of
I’d also spent time staring out of the window at the Humber Bridge, five or so miles east of us.
deal drug dealer
We were talking about an isolated city at the end of the motorway cul-de-sac. It marched to its own beat, seemingly with its back to the rest of the country, no place to hide. It made it different.
I pushed past me,
