Nick Gadd Torquay, England, August 1985 Romance was everywhere that summer. Lads from the kitchen wooed the waitresses by carrying out their water jugs. Judy, who loved the kitchen-hand, bought him an expensive knife to help him in his career. I was besotted by Scottish Clare.
Nick Gadd Sunday afternoon, Altona, September 2015 We tape the L-plates to the windscreen and back window. Gen eases her way into the driver’s seat . I give instructions, trying to invest my voice with the gravitas of an airline pilot, more to calm my own nerves than hers.
Nick Gadd London, 11p.m., December 1987 I didn’t have money for new records so I resorted to Peckham Public Library, whose music collection was free of the shoegazing guitar bands I preferred. I was forced to explore other genres .
Nick Gadd Wakefield, Yorkshire. February 1981 You may ask yourself, Who is this skinny, nervous guy in a suit, twitching like a puppet, a crazed suburban salesman having a meltdown?
Nick Gadd Lounge room, Yarraville. One a.m. February 1996 Unlike the nurses in the maternity ward, who handle babies with the dexterity of waiters carrying plates in busy restaurants (two babies asleep on one arm, another on the shoulder for burping) new parents are tentative and full of doubts.
Nick Gadd Kitchen, Saronno, Italy, January 1990 I was working as an English teacher at a chewing gum factory, and Lynne had a job at a language school in Milan.
Fiction by Nick Gadd A home in Yarraville, Melbourne. A Friday evening 2008 The guy selling the sax was over sixty, a retired postman, but he played ten times better than Philip ever would.