Our lounge was daubed in chip fat yellow well before he's next door we had replicas of the Eiffel tower and an arctic rug on the living room floor the walls were alive with lopsided matadors our out of focus friends from Ibiza would kill for Making the most of our matching houses in the middle of nowhere special making the most of our matching houses you can see through the curtains and the Oxfam blouses Truant love on the lino floor with borstal boy number four the outline of his Blackpool rock written all over our Tina's frock Dad sat on the lav - missing everything mother burned like Joan of Arc burned on parents evening Polluting the back of our nostalgic settee with lies and social security painting brown carpets with sunshine moving for the last time