Tea and floppy discs
The area around the old Arsenal football stadium often confuses me. Something about the way the streets make odd angles instead of forming a north-south, east-west grid like much of Holloway. Anyway I manage to get lost between the office and Peggy's place, which is less than ten minutes away. But eventually I find her and discover that like lots of writers with a deadline, she has had problems. She was up very late last night re-doing her story. She suggests I switch on her computer to double check everything is on the floppy disc, and we end up writing her bio straight to screen. There's a lot to fit in, 84 years, and I tell her jokingly that she is entitled to extra space if she needs it. Peggy tells me how every room of the house was painted brown when they moved here just after the war, so that her mother sat down and cried the day they moved in, and said they would never stay. And here is Peggy, sixty years later, still going strong. We drink tea from little china cups, and it's quite hard to drag myself back to the office.