Jeremy Clarke Jeremy Clarke

Low life | 19 February 2011

Jeremy Clarke reports on his Low life

issue 19 February 2011

The phone rang. (My ring tone is the crowd in the Bobby Moore stand at West Ham singing ‘I’m forever blowing bubbles’.) I was lying on a mattress on the floor. Early morning sun was streaming in through tall windows. A cat, one of those skinny, sharply intelligent-looking ones, was vigorously grooming itself near my feet. I found the phone on a nearby table, next to an unfinished glass of whisky. I took a sip of the whisky and caught the call before it went to answer phone. Trev.

‘Hey, Dude!’ he yelled, clearly in cracking form this fine morning. I hadn’t spoken to Trev on the phone or in the flesh since last year. It was marvellous to hear his voice again. ‘I’ve got a favour to ask,’ he yelled. ‘You know I have a bit of trouble spelling sometimes?’

He does and he’s more self-conscious about it than he should be.

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