I'm not entirely sure what I'm looking at.
The apocalypse they have to prepare for though, similarly to the lunar pioneers, is what to do when the furloughed have had enough and decide to slice your head off with a sharpened edging spade.
The young people in the street are constantly in and out on their bikes, and their parents are hanging out and sitting on their garden walls talking to each other, like it’s the 1970s.
The unexpected loss that cannot be explained was down to me. I was the immovable object that met with their irresistible force.
In that way I can never be accused of being indolent - © brotherhood of lazy feckless bullshitters.
I need to say a word about the infringement of me human rights that I have endured since moving back in with the parents.
I turn to Frances and ask whether she works in a place like that, and she says, ‘no, I’d never remember the feeding times.’
they are considered to be the habits of the unhinged by the rest of the world, yet are not even questioned as the right way to describe things by us.
Instead of responding to the offer I ask what the job will entail and Roger says, ‘promotions.’
I ask mother if there’s anything I can do to help with the preparations and she says, ‘you could try eating a few satsumas.’
He asks about me, and I do that thing where I don’t quite render my recently surrendered position in the past tense.
Dickie White's Diary 