A foxglove purple Hay Festival Press book containing two short stories by Jeanette Winterson: 'The Night Sea Voyage' and 'The White Room'.
Creaking is what I remember. Creak of boards (the ship), creak of joints (mine), the wooden parrot cage swinging over the Captain's table. The cello expanding in its case. The biscuit barrels wind-dried. The soaked oak water barrels, coopered hoops rust-blistered.
A cockroach-creaking, rat-rattling, cage-clattering, tub-thumping, head-banging, wrist-slitting, noose from nowhere, neck-breaking sea voyage of suicides, misfits, vermin, stowaways, rentboys, alkies, sniffers, poppers, mainliners, punks, sailors, dolls, and me.