The cotton crunch has seen building work forestalled on the Crystal Maize project, destined for the bunion-ridden foot of my dirty old Princess, but in one of the huge residential blocks on Whitworth Street I monitor the progress of Thantom Legg, as I have since I arrived in this neck of the woods. While always keen to use genuine names in this journal – preferring a direct slander to a vicarious gander – you may note that this chap’s name is a tad unconvincing. You would be right, if a little damned petty, to be suspicious. I admit to never having spoken to the man, yet on Sunday streets round here, the weekend boozers dispersed, you get to know by sight those shuffling about their business. And shuffle he does. Often I have wondered how such an injury befell him – one that sees a fit young man (early 40s – my new definition of late youth) with a permanent limp for the last eighteen months at least. With modern medical treatment now available to any male over 5’4” it seems almost unbelievable that a bash or funk of any description could lead to such an extended recuperation. I cast my mind back to when I first saw him, a slab of butter-coloured hair failing to obscure music hall good looks, arguing with a beautiful young woman at the foot of his building. Vicious words were exchanged – I missed their exact nature due to the passing of a farting horse – but it was evident that Thantom was more-than-able to nimbly circle his prey – or his quarry? Two weeks on, drained of colour, he was navigating the streets with difficulty, as now. There is little more to say. I leave you with, I hope, a little of the lingering mystery inherent in the private lives that surround us. I wonder who you wonder about (with only a little curiosity, truth be told: your business, dear reader – just as long as you’re retaining your own healthy fascinations). Licky arrives home with yet another bruise – hurdling a gate while running through the rich Hulme countryside. They say the heart is the body’s most resilient organ – it is certainly not the old pegs (legs).