Saturday 17 November 2012


We're all there, in the Astoria, including Simon. Simon lives under a bush. He plays the saxophone when he comes out. He's in the Astoria most nights, trading in his coins for paper. He's just back from Cairo. I think Simon is great - he managed to save up enough money for a ticket to Egypt. I really like the Palestinian scarf he's wearing.

I see him a couple of days later. He's nursing an Amstel. He's got a bandage round three fingers of his left hand.

'What happened?' I ask.

'Nothing much,' he says. 'We ended up in Babel the other night. Some arsehole wanted my scarf.' He tugs at the tassels with his good hand. 'As you can see, Andy,' he says, 'he didn't fucking get it.'

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