London Road, Leicester. Saturday 28 June 2026, 21:32
Try imagining a place where it's always safe and warm
"Come in," she said
"I'll give you shelter from the storm"
The back door bell rang about eleven o clock one day. It was my neighbour from two doors down, leaning on the porch with a mug of coffee in her hand. I can't remember her exact words, but it went something like, "Have you got time for a coffee?"
I don't know why she chose me, perhaps I was the only one guaranteed to be at home and sloping round the house. We were not close, had been in each other's place maybe once or twice in twenty years. But we were of an age, perhaps that was the thing.
I and my house were in our usual deshabille, me in a dressing gown, I may have had egg on my collar. The house warm, but suffering from a week of working. I'd been eating breakfast, the mess inside ran through my head as she asked. Could I say no? It wasn't an option, really, was it? Come in, I said, don't look in the kitchen, it's a tip, come in the warm.
We chatted, she told me her woes, a small piece of comfort on a cold Saturday morning. I was sage, eating my toast.
In the Spring, years later, we had lunch. She, as always, trim, coming into town on the bus from the village where she lived now, negotiating the complexities of the local car lift arrangements. Me, tender, sore, bleeding after a crashed love affair, broken heart splinted together.
When the couple next to us paid their bill and went on their way, I told the story. "Like a teenager," she murmured. What happened after? I can't remember, only her quiet tacit sympathy.
Hot Club of Leicester, practice, Black Horse, Braunstone Gate, Leicester. Tuesday 29 September 2026.
Quotation from Shelter from the Storm, Blood on the Tracks (1975), Bob Dylan.