One of the foster carers kept a video library of musicals that we worked our way through en famille at weekends,
and so, although I fervently wish that I wasn’t, I’m very familiar with the work of Lionel Bart, Rodgers and Hammerstein et al.
Knowing I was here on the street where he lived was giving me a funny feeling, fluttery and edgy, verging on euphoric.
I could almost understand why that frock-coated buffoon from My Fair Lady
had felt the need to bellow about it outside Audrey Hepburn’s window.
Finding out where the musician lived had been easy. He had posted a picture of a lovely sunset on Twitter: @johnnieLrocks
The view from my window: how lucky am I? #summerinthecity #blessed
It showed rooftops, trees and sky, but there was also a pub in the corner of the photograph,
right at the end of the street, its name clearly visible. I found it in seconds, thanks to Google.
The street, like most in this part of the city, was made up of tenements.
They all had a secure main front door with named buzzers on the outside wall, one for each flat inside the building.
This was the right street. Which side should I start with? Even numbers, I decided.
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