Writer: Michael Frayn

Author of the Notes: Mrs Pushpinder Kaur

The third week of June, and there it is again: the same almost embrrassingly familiar breath of sweetness that comes every year about this time. I catch it on the warm evening air is I walk past the well-ordered gardens in my quiet street, and for a moment I’m a child again and everything’s before me – all the frightening, half-understood promise of life.


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