Many a night on the way up to blanket street I bump into Hugh Borg who has stood so long at the top of my house stairs he has worn a groove in the hall carpet. I keep forgetting he is there and yet he never grumbles, never makes a fuss, He is just Hugh.I think the neighbours at the back of my house think I have a pale faced lodger who spends all his days and nights staring at the stars.
