The ghosts of Nativities past
LAST weekend, Zam went to collect a second-hand fridge. The sellers weren’t expecting him until the following day, so he had to leave empty-handed, with the ratchet straps, the flatbed transit he’d borrowed and the young cousin he’d enlisted to help. At home, we put everything back into our old fridge. It felt like an anti-climax.
On Sunday, all surfaces were,’ he looks at the sausage-roll paper bag, ‘was lunch.’
