,
was frowned upon by working class types. But the one in the middle was no exception - I was soon to join him anyway. It was the early 90's and John Major's recession was a blight on all our futures. To take the Queen's shilling was an escape from the drudgery of going round in circles and bumping into ex-cons and druggies. The only thing keeping us sane were nights by the metaphorical fire with a brew and a book. However, the problem was that this literary life was at odds with the one outside and the two clashed often with friendships being the sacrifice. But in the end those friendsships proved to be superficial anyway. The literary moments were a break from a harsher side of a life of meaninglessness and in hindsite were an absolute tonic.
