Was it Donegal or Sovereign House
where the boys fought up the stairs?
Morgan charmed a squat next door
and fidgeting formed a toilet queue.
Only two girls arrived wearing hats
just like the party memo said.
Connolly retrieved misused cutlery
whilst a gate relentlessly buzzed.
Deliveries came, politics pursued
and reunions isolated those new.
The hosts stayed in tight control
of music so quiet nobody danced.
By midnight things had thinned
across a car park, now private flats.
The keep on crew lost Hannah,
shouting her name to come back.
The Castle’s door had bolted
marking the end of another night.
That Summer’s events just blurred
from one council notice to the next;
Impromptu ciders in Hoxton,
jumping fences into ticketed gigs,
and drive-by paranoia as Sully hid.
Those days awakened, defined,
destroyed, split and united most.
Migration, home making,
career baking and kids raising
now scatter the stories to which I toast.