by Bob Jacobs
Come to think of it, I don't think I'd ever seen a ginger hair close up before. This one was on the pillow on my side of the bed when I got back from a business trip. The hair screamed at me and made me jump. I can't ask her yet. I lie awake at night worrying, and in the silence and the darkness the memory of the hair is like a monster that hides under the bed. When I fall asleep I dream that I'm outside in the rain, looking in through the window, and she's squealing with delight beneath a giant orangutan that's wearing my socks.
Bob Jacobs, author of C*** and C*****, lives in the south-east of England with his wife and kids and Sony Vaio. In his spare time he likes to lie motionless on his back, whistling and staring at clouds.