Late ‘80s; underground ‘private’ clubs, grubby pubs;
Inversion is hidden away in plainest sight,
Now legal, nonetheless, socially perilous,
Femininity’s locked away without a key.

Second quadrennial ‘affair’*; entitled chap,
Of Lytham Saint Anne’s, Lancashire stock, don’t you know?
Exploiting connections, airs and graces galore,
Drawn to fine foods, wines, kudos, fast cars, excitement.
I’m rendered servile in the presence of elite.

Joint tenants, red brick, Victorian, end terrace,
I name it, ‘Willow House’, though no willow in sight.
Small metal gate opens onto a brief brick path,
Slate stone threshold, kitsch half moon pane, crimson front door,
Above, oblong fanlight with cathedral glimpses!

Light touch renovation; clean, clear seal ground floor boards,
Dip internal doors to strip away life’s layers,
Swap sixties tiled slabs for period fireplaces,
Hey presto! Urban townhouse to rural cottage.

Espy habitants; barely conscious they’re phantoms:

First floor back bedroom, mine if his parents ask us.
Door’s ajar. Visitors staying, florist and beau,
Discover him reclining naked on the bed,
Brawny quintessential physique, bubble bum,
Fine downy coating, glinting in afternoon sun.
Quietly, slip away, sure he doesn’t see me.
Later on, I’m the butt of jokes over shared drinks.

Weekend, apricot moire, papered parlour scene:
Stiff deco walnut armchairs; one pound auction find,
Afront, gold veined black painted faux marbled fireplace,
Aside, light stone topped, tiled washstand, reused for booze,
Over, gilt framed, Venetian Canaletto prints,
Chaise in bay window, birds of paradise flowers,
Aback, heavy floral chintz curtains, swags and tails,
News sheets strewn across Pratley’s ivory Chinese rug
Abutting, an artichoke Lusty Lloyd Loom leg;
Cafetière doesn’t steam away morning’s chill.

Sand dining room; dust motes shimmering in sunshine,
Shafting below partly closed weighty Roman blind,
Dressed with vintage burgundy velvet drapery.
Beyond, rear narrow walled plot, poppies are in bloom.
Satisfying nostril tickling, scents of freshly
Waxed antique pine furniture, and lavender waft
From bunches hanging upside down in the kitchen.
Happily home alone, sipping cup of Earl Grey,
Reflecting on ‘Shout, shout, let it all out, these are
the things I can do without’.

Away from the formal, descend short flight, turn right,
Heart quickens, take care, ignore the rarely used door,
Behind lies coal cellar, where light’s absorbed by dank,
Dark, under foreroom and hall, too scary to face.
Forth, equidistant verdant serpentine vines climb,
Sprouting lemon and azure blooms in low ceilinged,
Subterranean sanctuary, inherent gloom.

Pause.

Fluorescent tubes flood, mortuary white, revealing
Mid twenties magpie snob, squandering time and cash,
Amass finery tuppenny-ha’penny means.
Ranging death in a basket, hot glue blisters, burns,
Potpourri of skills, emotional scars to learn.
Monday to Friday, big smoke commute, fall in line
To fund unnecessarily larger new house.

*I find it bizarrely intriguing, the word affair was used to describe one’s boyfriend e.g. ‘there he goes with his affair’.