Dexter Phillips – the dream guru – sat across the table from
me in that cafe in Shepherd’s Market. To his side was Denise, the centre of
attention in her Elvina persona every Saturday night, but now hidden away in
his shadow. He stared at me with his cold blue eyes and started to speak.
His voice wasn’t what I was expecting. I thought he would
have an American accent, but this man is clearly from somewhere in the North of
England. Newcastle, perhaps Sunderland. The voice doesn’t fit the face, it
doesn’t fit the attitude, being a lot more adenoidal. His words though were
mesmerising.
This man clearly knows what he’s speaking about. He knows
what I’ve been through.
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