Page2RRS

• 18 Sep 2009 16:49

  There he is in vision, great, domineering nose, tiny mouth (‘Watch my mouth.’ ‘What mouth?’), full of inhibitions, spiky. ‘Do you think this is catarrh?’ he would ask, waving a handkerchief in front of my face. ‘No,’ I would reply. ‘I think it's probably something to do with the scaffolding in your left nostril.’ bike race was in motion – ‘Vive, ole,’ he was crying loudly, with precisely that pronunciation.

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