Brooklyn Blue is in trouble. Half an hour before she’s supposed to turn up she sends me a text saying she’s going to be late. She’s just about to get on the train, from where she lives, which is two and a quarter hours away. Fucking princess. Outside it’s the last day of summer. If she’d let us know two hours ago we could have gone down the beach and had a commiseratory swim. Now the tide’s going out and before long it’s just going to be mud down there. No point anymore.