A zingy flavour of milk in my mouth, as the lactose my blood sugar craves kicks in.

I hit the switch and leave the building, turning sharp left into the sunshine.

Aluma & Sophie are back in the flat, gotta do some embroidery or something.

I walk towards the old brewery, past the ghost train thing and into the throng of people who always hang out on Drays Walk.

I turn into Brick Lane under the arch, past the Vibe and head towards the bridge with the Banksy graffiti: “TO ADVERTISE HERE CALL 0800 BANKSY”.

Broken windows, posters slapped on top of each other advertising club nights & Bollywood films, old brickwork & damp railway arches.

It’s round about here that I feel the presence of something old and forgotten, cold winter nights, gas-lamps, horses & carriages in the distance, men in cloaks & hats scuttling through the dark streets into the mist, it only takes a glance for history to seep back in.

I must be smoking more.

I’ve got to the end of my packet of Golden Virginia and the tobacco’s still a bit damp.

Usually it’s dry and burns faster by the end of the packet.

I must quit smoking.

Smoking seriously harms you and others around you it says in the white box with a black line round it on the side.

I might as well go home and kill myself.

Must remember to put my bankcard in a white envelope so Sophie won’t have any trouble getting money out at the cashpoint afterwards.

This would be my final journey home.

Happy days abroad, walking in the backstreets of a city.

It’s sunny and warm, there are people out and about, heading into town in pairs and groups. Cool looking people in sunglasses, patterned skirts over jeans, black denim, cotton vests and tank tops, chains and wristbands, bed hair and skinheads, second hand stilettos, smoking cigarettes, holding hands, a man passes on a moped, engine spluttering in a cloud of grey smoke.

This could almost be Europe.

The bombed-out remains of the Blitz line Bethnal Green Road, held together by miscellaneous shop fronts, and I’m walking and thinking, watching as the world I know passes by.

Back at the studio.

Got a text.

Goswin knocks on the door.

Two things happening at once, interwoven by a soundtrack.

Pretty pink baby blue, why don’t you teach me something new.

Hey Sis, thanx 4 ur text… im cool. Professorship is hard, lot of responsibility, but feeling confident it will all unfold ok once term starts. Hows life with u? when are u off abroad?

B good 2 c u  soon… god knows when i get any time off, but will have to catch u before u go. Take good care & keep in touch ok..lots of love & sophie says big HI, jxxx

351 letters, a three-part text costing 75p to send no doubt.

Goswin might have a flat. The one he lives in.

Might be moving into a 3 bedroom house.

Rents about a grand a month.

Phillipe was over from Switzerland, he picked him up in his car and stayed three weeks.

His daughter is aged 4 now, he’s getting on much better with his wife now which is good.

They know it’s all over but phone each other every other day.

Kids don’t start school til much later in Switzerland.

Graham the landlord of our building is a middle man, gives the rent he receives from tenants to Mr. Hacker, taking a small cut in between.

Goswin’s going to start a floor tiling business.

Selling black ashfelt tiles.

Doing it with a friend, an American guy.

He leaves his rent here for Graham to pick up, apparently he’s really behind with his bills and Graham’s been chasing him for rent for a while.

He’ll give my number to his landlord and let me know if he moves out.

His flat is a big open plan room a bit like our studio with a kitchen, bathroom and two extra rooms on the side.

He pays about a grand a month for it, as I said before.

It’s down in Whitechapel, above an organic café. Bit rough area at night but he likes it like that he says.

Goswin is the guy who has the dark room studio next door, he’s a photographer.

We put his post under his door, sometimes using a bread knife to push it under so it doesn’t stick out into the hallway.

He’s never in, so his doors are always locked with a big padlock.

Forgot to read the text I received, was too busy replying to my sister who text me yesterday or the day before.

Hi Julian. Sorry to bug you on a Sat but did you chat to ex student of yours who may be willing/able to demo/teach your pattern cutting technique? Sometime between 28^th feb to 18^th March would be good but I can be pretty flexible earlier or later. Thanks have a good wk end x x

That could be a bit of luck, Goswin’s flat sounds just what we’re after.

Might never happen but sounds interesting.

What’s the likelihood his landlord will call though?

It takes a long time to say goodbye to Goswin, he never seems to want to go.

I think in the end after shaking his hand and saying bye 3 times I just shut the door in his face.

Hi Louise, i haven’t been able to 2reach the student i had in mind, ex-rca textile girl, cos rca’s been closed. The other person I had in mind was the Pcutting technician ive employed @uni, he’s 0.5 so might have time &i was going2 teach him my method after xmas. He’s an ex-vivienne westwood cutter, very technical/quiet welsh guy, but by Feb he’ll b used2 giving class demos& i'll have involved him in some new style cutting projects. will run dates past himXx

3 more texts, god the airwaves are busy today.

A reply from Louise and my sister, and one from Jonny about remembering to bring the beads & embroidery stuff when I go back round to Aluma’s.

My suits ready too, so I’m to bring a pair of shoes and a shirt for the final fitting.

Jonny is my tailor, and goes out with Aluma.

Before I get a chance to read the new texts Sophie’s rung me just to remind me even further to bring the beads & embroidery threads, and also to pick up some bagel’s from the top of Brick Lane on route.

Jonny will have Turkey & cream cheese, Aluma Salmon & cream cheese, and sophie will have Turkey & cream cheese too, and I’ll have the same as Aluma so that’s 2 of each.

She calls back a second time,

“ Where are you?”, she says sounding really alarmed.

I’ve got the Sons&Daughters CD playing loud in the background and she probably thinks I’m in a pub.

“I’m in the studio.”

She wants me to also bring her jacket or a cardigan.

Louise says thanks and wishes me a good night.

I just erase it.

Jonny’s text just says “cool”.

I don’t remember replying to him, but I guess whatever I said was cool.

I erase that one also.

My sister’s text wants to know if I can get down to visit her before the 10^th October cos that’s when she’s leaving for New Zealand.

I text back saying I’ll try my best.

I look sideways because the door suddenly creaked as if someone were trying to push it.

It’s getting a bit windy, which is probably why Sophie needs a cardigan.

Under the door I can see a strip of light.

Footsteps pass by and falter just before the shadow slips from view.

It’s probably Goswin still standing in the same spot I left him in.

He wore a bright yellow sweat top with ‘ALIVE’ written on it in big lettering.

Maybe it was a motivational statement cos he looked pretty much his usual self to me.

Aluma’s on the floor.

Black hair, grey-black t-shirt with a print of the Eiffel Tower on it, dark black jeans, barefoot, cutting fabric, picking things up, occasionally saying, “Hey Sophie, how’s things going”.

Sophie’s sat by the window.

It’s night so it’s dark down that end of the room and I can’t see exactly what she’s doing.

Sewing I think, maybe hand embroidery.

Sophie’s all in bright pink, long black hair hanging down straight over her face, light blue tight jeans, leaning over the ironing board or sitting cross-legged with her needle.

Jonny’s walking about black jeans, loose black t-shirt, occasionally talking.

The room curves round toward the window, Fugees playing.

Ready or not here I come. Going to find you.

Sophie says something back to Aluma.

They’re chatting in the corner about beads or something.

I thought they may be talking about me, or conspiring something secret and cool, but they weren’t.

Just getting on with their work, which is something I should be doing.

But no I’m sat here writing this story on my laptop instead.

Julian enters the storyline.

I’m sat here on the couch writing down what’s happening.

Navy blue cord trousers, bit fucked up at the bottom where they’re too long for me, and skid along the floor behind me.

Fake G-shock watch off a market stall in Hong Kong.

White Puma trainers.

Blue printed t-shirt with a naked girl dressed only in black stockings, with ‘Rock without Remorse’ written underneath.

The lights come back on like a fader.

My tunnel vision widening outwards slowly to include the room and it’s characters.

Sophie and Aluma working, sewing at the machine, embroidering on the ironing board, yellow light hip hop soundtrack, plants all round the room racks of clothes, a coffee table dying flowers in a jar, rizlas and cling film and a brass antique kaleidoscope.

I wonder what aluma’s obsession with dolls is?

It’s kind of strange, they’re everywhere.

On the walls like paintings, and in the bathroom perched along the bath.

Wonder what they signify?

Something she doesn’t want to surrender maybe.

A look, style or emotion.

They perhaps remind her of a precious time.

Of a beauty and innocence she doesn’t want to lose.

Pete Docherty stands on the small makeshift stage outside the Vibe.

The police tell us to move onto the pavement for our own safety.

He sings ‘Shoop shoop shoop delang delang’ and everyone just goes completely mental.

Words by Professor Julian Roberts