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I don’t let myself think that I shouldn’t be doing this. That I’m mad to try an untested horse without somebody here to give me a leg up, to hold the other stirrup while I get on, to lead her round a bit at first to make sure she’s going OK. I know all that. But I want to do it my way. On my own. Large Mammals, Stick Insects and Other Social Misfits
I am Aimée Logan. I’m a Sagittarian whose fave season is winter; fave scent is Clio’s fresh morning coffee or Davidoff Cool Water, depending on the context; and fave sound is the welcome-home reassuring purring of my multi-striped cat – Rainbow by name (after the refuge where he adopted me), random by nature. The only child (me, I mean, not Rainbow) of journalist and local-activistturned-social-reformer Eamonn Logan of 149 eech Avenue and his ex-wife, the academic and lecturer Clio McCourt of 1A (A for ground floor) Riverview, aka the New Apartments. Aka flats. Clio – whom I aggravate by calling Mammy – and Eamonn – who is happy enough to be called Da except when he’s in the company of Fiona’s friends and is being economical about his age – split up when I was four…
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I am Aimée Logan. I’m a Sagittarian whose fave season is winter; fave scent is Clio’s fresh morning coffee or Davidoff Cool Water, depending on the context; and fave sound is the welcome-home reassuring purring of my multi-striped cat – Rainbow by name (after the refuge where he adopted me), random by nature. The only child (me, I mean, not Rainbow) of journalist and local-activistturned-social-reformer Eamonn Logan of 149 eech Avenue and his ex-wife, the academic and lecturer Clio McCourt of 1A (A for ground floor) Riverview, aka the New Apartments. Aka flats. Clio – whom I aggravate by calling Mammy – and Eamonn – who is happy enough to be called Da except when he’s in the company of Fiona’s friends and is being economical about his age – split up when I was four …
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Everything changed when the ice cap collapsed and the number of immigrants trying to get on board our island ran into millions. I’ll tell you a bit more about that as we go along. Also, it was the summer of the feral boy. That’s what Dad called him. I had to look the word up in a dictionary. Feral: wild, savage. I’ll tell you about him now.
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