Playing out with your Street mates. When the council had recently cut the grass. Where you were stealing the last light of dusk and the hedges made walls away from the terraces. When you could still just see the ball. Before they called us in. Wasn’t that the best time ever.

Our mother hung a red throw from the second floor window. Notice that we had to go home. We tried to be less dutiful. Pretend we hadn’t seen. But a minute and the guilt set in. We did as we were told.