The needle clicked over on the run-out groove at the end of the album, and the final phrase of 'Sergeant Pepper' began to repeat itself. I got up from the floor and lifted the tonearm on the record player, returning it to the start of the record.

That was another half-hour gone. As the opening bars of Harrison's 'Within You Without You; began to fill the three-room flat that was home, I made my way into the galley kitchen. I needed a cup of tea - badly. My throat was dry and sore from crying, and my nose and eyes were crusted with mucus. I picked up the kettle and shook it. There was enough water in it for two mugs.

Two mugs. I caught myself. No. Don't go there. You're not ready. Not yet. I hit the switch on the kettle and started searching through the cupboards, looking for tea, milk and sugar.

"Sugar's bad for you. You know the doctor told you to give it up."

"I want some," I told the voice in my head. "Why shouldn't I have some?"

"For your sake. And for my sake. Because we want to grow old together."

"Yeah." I took a deep breath. "Look how that ended up."

I emptied the contents of my mug down the sink and put the old teabag in the dish on the draining board. Then I filled the mug and took it into the bedsitting room to wait for the tea to brew. I sat down on the floor.

"God damn it!"

A sudden fit of rage hit me. I glared at the pictures on the coffee table - mementoes of happier times - and raised my arm to knock them onto the carpet. Then I stopped. And began to sob. I didn't stop until a cacophony of notes and voices brought me back to the real world. The record had finished.

The needle clicked over on the run-out groove at the end of the album, and the final phrase of 'Sergeant Pepper' began to repeat itself. I got up from the floor and lifted the tonearm on the record player, returning it to the start of the record.