One of the things that happens as you walk around your old world, as I do when I revisit Stoke for football matches, is that you bump into the ghosts of yourself, and sometimes you hear songs from then, floating like the jasmine in your mind.
Maggie, Maggie, Maggie: Out Out Out!
That’ll be ‘blowing through the jasmine’ – hope you’re not getting, er, forgetful . . .
teehee