Stepping into my childhood bedroom is a step back into the past. It's all there, just as I left it, but blurred with dust. Duran Duran poster. Hair mousse, blue mascara and eyeliner. Body Shop White Musk – I pick up the bottle and there's still a trace of the scent. Tape player and a stack of cassettes – Adam and the Ants, Howard Young, Nik Kershaw. School textbooks and ring binders full of notes. I left here in 1986. Went off to university with a rucksack and a notebook and never came back – I couldn't afford to leave before then, and I had no one I could turn to, nowhere else I could go. I look in the mirror and see my father, standing behind me, waiting for me. When he smiles, my blood runs cold. I turn, and all I see is the wardrobe, full of batwing jumpers, legwarmers and pixie boots. I suppose I should be wearing black today. But instead I grab my old favourite cerise shirt and go.
Writing short fiction, monologues and plays