Old Trafford

She is glad not to walk up the steps to the media box alone, but from her demeanour you could never tell. They met at Manchester Piccadilly, in the bookshop. They spent ages there, but he couldn’t find anything sufficiently highbrow to bother parting with his hard won cash. His intellect scares her a bit,…

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Like father, like daughter

This craziness has got to stop. In all probability it only exists in my own head, and it’s making me miserable rather than happy. So it has to stop. Surely, surely, it’s a simple case of mind over matter. Surely, surely, my heart (if it is indeed my heart and not the female equivalent of…

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