Georgia

Georgia, why are you digging? What is it that you can’t let go? You clench your teeth to steel yourself against the cold, and the snow settles in your dark brown hair despite your feverish work.

The bodies are deeper than an afternoon’s effort. If you’re not careful you might join them.

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Mood

When I was 16 and studying at college, I was delighted to be employed as an unpaid volunteer in a charity shop – my parents were somehow not quite so impressed despite their “get a job” instruction having technically been fulfilled.

Blessed

I walk from the campus to the train station every evening and am reminded of my grandmother. The aromatic scent of curry leaves from the restaurants on London Road ignite my senses and, curiously, conjure images of chicken pieces in mushroom sauce. A series of associations devised by the memory of homemade chips, I theorise. A grave injustice is more thunderously sorrowful than the relief which follows in solitary outlines.