Sir.

The flat was small. His room in the flat was smaller. The right hand wall occupied by the noticeboard that served as socail calendar buisness filing and academic research collection, the desk next to it – exhuasted by its dual existance as office and dinner table and the bed alongside the other wall. Which seemed to close to the left hand wall to be called the far wall, indeed the term far seemed demeaned by the concept. The saving grace of the room; the box in which Arthur hall found himself residing in for the forseeable future, was the window. Which being on the third floor gazed across the edge of town just over the rooftops. Almost a hundred and eighty degrees of sky presented itself to gaze of the window, punctuated only by the intrusive church steple in the near distance and the trailing cirlces of birds. So long as he maintained looking upwards and outwards, not allowing his eyes to drop to the dilapidated carpark, overly pollouted canal and the smoking area round the back of the playhouse, it seemed a fair exchange in view of the minature dimensions of the room. Sometimes, when the kitchen was at its worst and the music next door was shaking the shelves behind the door the view was the only thing that stopped Arthur pitching himself out of the window.