There’s a problem on the London Underground and I’m late. Emerging onto Leicester Square, into heavy rain, I see people rushing to find shelter from the downpour. A bus has broken down, causing chaos, the cars behind blaring their horns. Then I spot him, wearing his signature natty hat, standing quite still, cool as you please, just liming.*
Born to a teenage mother in Trinidad, Anthony Joseph was raised from seven months by his grandparents, whom he describes as ‘country people, strict and loving’. It’s difficult to describe him as neatly. Poet, academic, musician, novelist? I ask him how he’d describe himself.
