Confessions of summers from a misspent youth
Summertime and the living is easy. Chance would be a fine thing. Traffic is clogged up like a lorry driver’s artery and people are still hunched over spreadsheets and snarling at each other in emails. The wheels must be kept turning; the world went and got itself in a big damn hurry.
It used to be so different. Long, lazy childhood summers stretched out forever. Exciting adventures, like the time I and four friends, one of whom was a very clever dog, foiled these smugglers who’d kidnapped my Uncle Quentin. Not sure about all the details of that one; pretty sure it happened, though.
