Take a look at your bookcase. If you had enough free time, which book would be the first one you’d like to reread? Why?
I’m just putting together this episode of my story. It does fit into the challenge, I think. The book I want to reread next is the one I’m writing at the moment. I’d love to see it on my bookshelf. That does mean, of course, finishing it, rereading it a hundred times, finding an agent, a publisher and an audience. I’d like to travel forward in time, re-read the thing and find out how it ends. That would just leave me with a lot of typing to do!
The kebab shop is not there any more. It hasn’t been bombed, it just doesn’t do yeeros any more. It does smell pleasingly of fish and chips and it’s still open for business despite the blitz. I run back into the cafe and rummage in the till. The machine has obliged by stocking some coppers, shillings and a half crown. I go back over and get us two fish with chips. It’s almost the same guy behind the counter, except he’s not Greek any more . ‘Bloody zeppelins!’ he says ‘Third one this week. In the bloody daylight too!’ I nod. What can you do?
Back in the shop we eat our fish & chips, watched by Mr Russell, who’s just appeared, very interested . F&Cs always taste better from a newspaper and you can read the wrapper afterwards. I’d already guessed, but now I know. It’s 1915. The war has been going a year now. I feel slightly better now, it’s an English paper.
Frank doesn’t seem worried. He’s never had F&Cs, but they’re going down well. He’s entranced by the idea that food can be wrapped in words. He knows what words are, of course, but none of the magazines in the rack has ever turned into a plate. Mr Russell’s content. He loves chips. For my part, I’m not content. It’s the wrong year and it’s the wrong place. We’re back in King St alright, but King St isn’t where it belongs.