Craic On

Coming out on to the street, the heat hit me.  A day of brainstorming had taken its toll. No matter how good the air conditioning and how sweet the cake, there is nothing like a good blast of hot air after a long day of trying not to disgrace yourself, to make you feel the strain. Far fetched as it sounds, in thirty degrees of heat, I needed to be in Upper Street before 6.30, to beat the deadline for the winter jumper I had reserved. #Bank Station had come to a standstill and as people piled in behind me, the temperature began to rise in more ways than one. I still had time to make it, but after a torturous wait, I gave up and shuffled my way through the crowds and back into the relative cool of a scorching evening. That jumper would wait for no woman. I needed a taxi. This was a job for the cane. This was no ordinary jumper. It was just the right shade of green and it’s the quest for colour that lead me to spend the next twenty minutes, standing on the side of the road, cane in one hand, the other a