Potato, mince and pastry on a berm in a storm. One cheek bears the brunt, the other glows in the lee. The absence of cold feels tropical, the sheltered half is drunk on it’s privilege. Heat from the warmer cabinet, passed down the generations, finally it gets to me. From the pit of my stomach, to the depths of my heart. Central heating on a budget , on the gravy train see. Hot pie from a cellophane bag, standing against them all.  I got steel inside me, and steak, onion and cheese.