I'm sitting in a small stuffy room in a warehouse in Warrington. A tiny Geordie is reading out a poem about an isolated pensioner looking back at her life with real feeling. I am quietly unwrapping Werthers Originals and stuffing them into my mouth in a bid to stop myself crying. It's no good. By the time the tiny Geordie finishes the poem I am actually sobbing. Full on snot and everything.
"I think we'll take a break there whilst Sara gets herself a tissue" says the softly spoken Geordie.
A cracking start to my new career as a sales assistant in a charity shop.
"I think we'll take a break there whilst Sara gets herself a tissue" says the softly spoken Geordie.
A cracking start to my new career as a sales assistant in a charity shop.
