When I was small, there was nowhere for me to hide. When my parents argued, when my father beat up my mother knocking out her teeth, when my mother vomited a vulcano of awful words and blood with them, when all their friends disappeared, when there was no money and no toys, I had nowhere to go.

Later, when I was left endless times by all the little boyfriends who were attracted by my legs but repelled by my mind, I hid in my books, and lived in my school.

And now, naked as I am and scared of fear itself, there is only one place which would provide clothes and warmth, and I cannot go there. Another will soothe and soak me up, and that's where I am heading next week.

London. To forget myself.