Failure is a recurring nightmare where I’m back working in a petrol station in the middle of the oil crisis, Norman suggesting I consider a career as a “fuel injection technician.” My auntie Ruth had got me the job that past summer, at the Esso station on the airport road, and it had seemed perfect. I could write lyrics in the long gaps waiting for the cars to come in. But then came the oil crisis and long queues of cars lining up and no chance to write lyrics.
