"I remember exactly where I was when I heard Elvis had died. I was 10 years old, in the back of my mum's car, as she waited to get the fanbelt replaced. I'm not sure I'd even heard of Elvis, and I don't think my mum had mentioned his name before or since, but I recall being in no doubt that something momentous had happened. I had the urge to tell Priscilla all this but that would have been ludicrous, so I didn't."
"And in the blink of an eye I was walking from London Bridge to Millwall, stuck behind a posse of coked-up louts who were owning the pavement, scattering oncoming pedestrians, kicking the odd bin over, you know the kind of thing. Or perhaps you don't, in which case keep it that way. These were my club's morons, by the way, not Millwall's. But I'm wary of their lot ever since one of them pretended to stab me about five years ago. Just for lols."
The narrator unexpectedly meets Priscilla Presley in Cardiff and is struck by the improbability of her presence. He remembers being ten when Elvis died, sitting in his mother's car and feeling that something significant had occurred despite little prior familiarity. Priscilla, now 80, appears small but strong and recalls life after Elvis with limited memories of her early years. The narrator then walks to a Millwall match, encounters abusive fellow fans, recalls a past mock stabbing, and watches his team lose 3-0, feeling relieved he did not bring Priscilla to witness it.
Read at www.theguardian.com
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