David, Richmond24 January 2011
A few years ago in pre-trendy Hoxton I recall my flatmates denying the existence of the washing up, or indeed the kitchen, because it was too far from the living room where our two-bar electric heater lived.
I'm not proud of this, but when my slice of bread slipped and fell onto one of the electric bars - shorting the whole flat - we lasted just three hours in the dark and cold until we decided it was time to move out, en masse.
Tramping through the snow to a bus stop, with my belongings in a binbag, remains one of the happiest memories of my life.
I was going home. To my mum. The land of tomato soup, cheese on toast, light... and warmth!




