Onions. A carrot. A potato. That’s it. No wonder they look like ghosts. Unhappy ones. Of course they’re pale. Where’s the sun, anyway? And it’... not even winter yet.She had hated London. Too many people. Too many horses and carriages. Smelly. Dirty. Noisy. Oxford, on the other hand, seemed to her to be just about the right size despite the mud and the cold and the food. Already home to almost two dozen or so colleges that made up the famous University of Oxford, its streets were full of students. Up above, the steeply raked seats in the balcony receded even further, disappearing into the gloom. The footlights in front of me glared suddenly. A voice from the stalls shouted, 'Give him a guitar somebody.'One of the stage hands appeared with a Fender guitar. My pulse quickened, my stomach tightened, and a shiver of stage-fright ran through me. Terror must have shown in my face, for as he handed me the instrument he said, 'Don't worry, mate, you look really cool.'My eyes adjusted to the. More

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