Summershit
So, the worst summer in eighteen years is at an end, winter is rushing
in, I'm still nursing Mrs H after surgery, complicated by the fucking
awful excuse of the National Health Service, and all I can hold on to
are memories of genuine, proper, happy summers. Here's a postcard of
one from the early seventies, when North Berwick was a regular day
trip for a primary school Mr H, along with his faither and mammy.
