In the Lair of the MAM

Received an invite out of the blue today from an erstwhile friend, and now flatmate of the MAM, to come round for dinner.

In the spirit of a those war correspondents who venture into Darfur and return with tales of pestilence & horror, I accepted this invitation.

Journalists in Sudan, however, never had to deal with the sight of the MAM's soiled underpants flung into a corner of the bathroom during a visit to the loo.

There had recently been a burglary at the flat, but the MAM & friend had been too strung out on pills/alcohol to prevent or notice it. This had caused the friend to become slightly paranoid, hiding any remaining items of value throughout the flat. She told me that she was still looking for the MAM's half of the December rent, four thousand in cash that she'd hidden somewhere in her bedroom (valium plays such tricks on the memory).

Eventually dinner (chicken a la king) was served, the MAM thoughtfully wiping my plate clean with the front of his t-shirt before dishing up. Bon appetit!