The Conquerer

A few nights ago I was one of 17. We car convoyed to a big gaudy Greek restaurant on the petticoated outskirt of Newcastle: families, feta, folk dancing.

I asked those seated around me what words they know in Greek.

PM, who's on the home straight of his PhD said that he has been hibernating, working. When he leaves the house, the light reaches him from different angles; sounds and encounters are as daydreams.

Recently on a milk errand he found himself a pedestrian behind a man, and a woman in a dress cut low at the back.

Sideways up the centre of her spine she had some letters inked that PM had to sneak closer to read.

The tattoo comprised 6 letters that spelt a Greek word that PM made sure he memorised to look up later.