Yes, a happyish, cloud-touched, windblown arrival surrounded the aforementioned bread cadging. Here in Hammersmith was a place a man could cadge figs in.



This was a Cadger’s Paradise (apologies to Cadgio).

And soon sleep came, as it does to all men who have a friend who owns a couch. Then, of course, wakedness. And then the question a man with a show next Monday night needs to hear on Tuesday morning.

“Where will you be staying when I go to visit my family next Monday, early morn?”


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