As I walked along the banks of the canal this morning, I listened to Thom Yorke's Harrowdown Hill. I hadn't listened to it on my morning promenade in a long time, because Harrowdown Hill was what I was listening to that morning so many months ago.
Every old man I see, in October-coloured weather, seems to remind me of my grandfather.
Every old man I see, in October-coloured weather, seems to remind me of my grandfather.
