The sky is dark by the time we get up. Here's a rasher-and-tomato sandwich, washed down with orange juice, tea, and (for D) a quick fag. Oh dear liver, you may need lashings of Marmite on toast, to ease the memory of all the spirits consumed last night.

Anyways, there are some excellent dudes here in this sleepy town with its closed storefronts, rook-flecked rooftops, five pubs, and that old dude who stands on the corner watching traffic. We gather in the pub downstairs, to extend our friendships by wit and recall and laughter. That eases this time of year, so dark so soon, all the light leaking away.

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