Cricklewood, the Temptress

In my emptiness, you filled me
In my dryness, you watered me
In my contentment, you nuzzled me
To my happiness, you brought ecstasy.

In my fatness, you starved me
In my restfulness, you cut me
My happy heart, with anger you mangled
In my confusion, you struck me.

We rode the waves of the highest highs
and you tossed me into the lowest lows.
Am I grateful for that?
No.

Cricklewood is a seductive temptress, absorbing, enfolding, lulling, preening. A milky velvet breast into which we sink, soon resting our exhausted heads and suckling with contentment.

Beware! Cricklewood is not all Broadway and neatly painted concrete gardens. She is a fickle lover, tiring easily. The day comes. The day that Somerfield's low fat yoghurt is too runny; when the Crown stops your tab; when Pedro's gets your order wrong.

On that day, we each respond in our own way. From one fellow traveller to another, please, prepare.