Elvis and the Homeless

I went to see Simon the Estate Agent, he was in his office sat back on his executive chair listening to Elvis Radio (sirius13) on his laptop.
"Wanna see the view from Elvis' bedroom, on a live webcam?" he asked enthusiastically.
"Hold me back." I said with just a hint of sarcasm. A few taps later and I'm rewarded of a view of Gracelands, live.
"Great isn't it?"
"Not exactly what I was thinking Simon."
He carried on "... and I was standing just there three weeks ago." he said pointing to a patch of bare earth in the centre of the screen. "Hey wanna come for a ride?"
"Where to?"
"See a house."
So we climbed or sank into his sports car with the rotary engine that does 0-60 in a fleas cough and sped away across town into the Asian Quarter, where india and Pakistan are recreated under a cold leaden sky. Except there are no sacred cows and no goats, well not since someone was arrested a couple of years ago for ritually slaughtering a goat over a drain at the side of the main road. The new Mosque stands in amongst the run down terraced houses, bright green and gold.
We arrive at the house and a young girl is waiting for us, she's wearing a black bomber jacket and jeans, she's shivering. I notice her face all cut and scarred. Simon lets us into the house, it's cold, but for a maisonette, quite large. A pile of unopened letters are scattered across the tiled hallway.
"So what do you think? Do you like it?" Simon asked a huge smile across his face.
"I don't care I just need somewhere to live."
"Yes of course."
"My ex boyfriend beat me up. I was in hospital." That explained the scars and the cuts on her face. "I can't take it anymore, it's too much and...." she burst into tears. I looked at Simon and he looked at me, shit! a girl crying is not our idea of a fun afternoon. "I'm sorry." she said.
"We'd better get you moved in straight away then. Get the papers signed and processed."
"I just want somewhere safe for my son and me."
Simon quickly drew out the papers and handed them over. We left the house and made for the car, the girl stumbled off down the road.

An artist friend of mine turned up today. I hadn't seen him for nearly ten years. Rob Donaldson. He now lives in a long boat on the river near Peterborough. I was very pleased to see him.It's been a good day. And now I've got to take photos of bands.
Life doesn't get much better.

Rock on dudes