When I was a child I had a (very real) imaginary friend called Mrs Kershaw, who was my best friend. If I close my eyes I can see her as vivid as I could when I was a child. She wore her hair in a bun and carried a shopping basket that always had nice things in it. She wore a leopard skin jacket with kind of poppers down the front and a turquoise blouse. Mrs Kershaw had a kind gentle Scottish accent and I told her everything. Where did she go? Who was she? and where did she come from?
When I talk to myself (as I do frequently) I often wonder if I am really still talking to my old friend Mrs K and I smile to myself thinking she must be very much alive and well somewhere hopefully looking after another very lonely and imaginative child.
Have any of you got all electric cars? Pros and cons please.
Army horses loose on London streets
Angela Rayner lashes out and calls Sunak “pint sized loser”.