13 JANUARY 1990, Page 25

Home

You're home, all smiles and bags and creases, where easterlies fluster the Albertines and improvise on their old mouthpieces.

You stare at all the unbearable greens and, stepping in, recognise the rightness of each station, each appointment, the scenes rehearsed a thousand times. With such lightness there's no margin between waking and dreams: you rise to a mysterious brightness.