Sue surly thinks I’m Ern, he reasoned. He hoped she doesn’t say anything to him like ‘how good it was for me, last night.’ But, maybe it wasn�...�t anything special, he thought with a start. But, he had to admit it had been damn good for him. Maybe this was merely an average meeting between Ern and Sue. Since the two met, he had always considered his brother to be a lucky guy. Now, he was sure of it. But, what the hell, he thought. So am I. He hoped that meant he is a lucky guy, not was. These were. So I published the poem under the pen-name Wendy and sent him an email asking him to keep in touch, and let me know how things were going. And send some more poems!I heard nothing more.A year or so later, a reader asked me about "Wendy". My curiosity was piqued. I asked a friend of mind, a computer whizz, if he could find the home address from the email address.He could. It was outside a small fishing port on the coast of East Anglia. I won't say exactly where, but it was a semi-detached right. More

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