I attempted a brief sketch on paper with a Biro, but although I could capture the scene, I couldn't show the atmosphere of neglect, the smells, the ta...te, the gritty feel of the dust on my skin, and so, when I got home I wrote this short descriptive piece.It's not perfect by any means, and it's not a story as such. It has no real beginning, middle or end. It is purely a memory amongst many memories, a snapshot in time, an imperfect watercolour landscape for the person who taught me that. The first of July saw us being shepherded to the airport by Carol's mother. I really liked Janice. I never took her as the woman who would replace my mother, but rather, the woman who would help me and my father pick up the wreckage of our lives, and set things straight. She was only forty when she came into my life, but seemed so much more mature than her age. Of course, being beautiful herself helped a lot. Many a time she was just like an angel to me. A guiding light in a tunnel of darkness. More

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