"I went to Turandot at the Royal Opera House Covent Garden not the performance I saw at Glynbourne a friend got me tickets sat in the nose bleeds but the stalls after the interval the National Theatre's got a few duds on at the moment darling my ticket for Glastonbury Festival hope they're backstage hope I'm back for the Lake District off to Chelsea for oysters for my party you coming mustn't forget the wine lodger left without paying the rent unemployed suing him only two weeks rent but it's the principal and he's Portuguese...."
Jake stared abstractly at Laurence, his dinner guest, sat before him in a high backed arm chair like a shrunken skull with a see-through bouffant and wondered whether melanoma was not the only thing white people were lacking. Jake had, once again chosen badly, his own life was in real danger, his cancer had returned, Disability Living Allowance had been stopped, an application for Personal Independence Payment rejected and his only other financial support ESA once again under review. Like many in the UK's hidden financial climate starvation and suicide threatened his reality.
Jake had dared a Facebook clarion-call for help on his wall.
'Vunerable right now. Life not going well. Need a friend'.
He had received a private post in his message box from a friend promising a sympathetic ear and a shoulder to cry on.
"... Bournemouth she not being well for a while my mother brother and sister live too far away it's left to me we really never got on she's difficult not that my relationship is great with my siblings things are difficult don't know how I'm expected to get away to Europe this year and pay for the care home I'm not missing Avignon festival Peter Brook Mahabaratha of course you coming to the shaman gathering on Mikonos I'm a healer or so I'm told book on Mandala's coming on working to deadline exhausting..."
Jake excused himself and went to check on the casserole the ingredients of which he'd bought with the last money he might ever have.
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