The Assumption of the Rogues & Rascals

Was it for this that so many miracles came roaring like bombers across the wilderness of America?

Down the Pimlico Road and across Ebury Street, the buses cluster like vultures in the open spaces where already forgotten bombs brought disaster. But who listens to history? I too have chilblains and a faithless lover and trouble making ends meet, say the women in the fish and chip queues.

Over the uncooperative landscape, inertias and despairs find their way, make nests in every likely corner, so that none can hold a hopeful surprise which might, at the last trump, have come running with a golden solution held up in a happy finger.