I caught a taxi over London Bridge on Thursday and went right past my old office. It was like a regression – like remembering a past life (in this case not the kind where you discover you were Cleopatra with grape-feeding slaves but the kind where you find out you were the grape-feeding slave). And …

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‘At what exact point did you decide you weren’t going back to live in the UK?’ Richard asked. What was the trigger huh? Well, you know, it wasn’t when I got my fiftieth pile of clean clothes back from the laundry people.  It wasn’t when Alula went to play with our neighbour’s family. No, the …

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I am, according to the man whose penis I grabbed, ‘immensely enlightening’. He wasn’t referring to my genital grabbing technique, though perhaps he was, in secret code that I failed to pick up on at the time. Perhaps he found Nirvana in those few seconds I honked his bits whilst trying to break my fall. In …

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