To write for a couple of days.

We are custodians of our friend Rosemary’s flat in London. Rosemary passed away in November last year. She had reached the grand old age of 101, but it was still quite a shock. We are clearing the flat out before it is sold, so usually my trips up to town involve stirring up  a lot of dust sorting out a century’s worth of hoarded possessions. However, this time, I am under strict self instruction to do none of that.

Instead, I sit on a dust sheeted armchair by the balcony window and write, with a word target of 12,000 for the three days. My only distraction is life in all its colours as it parades past on the Kings Road beneath me. I find a pair of opera glasses and find that it is more diverting than reality TV.

The addition of a couple of those brightly painted elephants that are currently dotting the capital makes my spying even more interesting. Except, at night, I discover that they are rather too well sized for drunk people to sit on. My sleep is constantly punctuated by pissed people kicking the hollow elephant fibre glass as if it were the flanks of a horse (this is Chelsea, after all). It makes me giggle, though, and I don’t resent it at all.

At one point there is a loud thump, and resounding ‘Oh FUCK!’ followed by a deathly silence. I tiptoe to the open window and look out. One young man is riding one of the elephants, kicking its sides (see above) and saying ‘He’s OK, he’s OK, just leave him alone.’

Another young man is prodding by the prone body of a third with his foot. The third young man is not moving.

I feel a little alarmed. Should I get dressed and go downstairs and offer to help? They don’t look like they are in any kind of state to look after themselves. I decide to give them ten minutes, so I go back to bed and read.

A few minutes later, I hear another ‘OH FUCK.’ And then: ‘It’s broken! There’s blood everywhere!’

I spring to my feet. Third young man is now standing up, holding his face in his hand. Second young man is saying to first (who is still on elephant): ‘Look at him, we should do something.’

First young man says, ‘Look, even if it IS broken, there’s nothing we can do about it now.’

How about A&E? I think.

‘It’s broken. There’s something wrong. I’m a third year medic and I should know,’ third young man wails.

I am just putting my clothes on to go down and sort these lads out (I have sort of adopted them in my mind by now) when I hear second young man take control and lead his injured and brainless companions off up the Kings Road, in the direction (I hope) of the hospital.

I hope they made it.