I am another now and yet the same.
And only then do the scales finally fall from their eyes, as they are forced to acknowledge the likely provenance of the strange umami flavour of the apero-snacks that had been served with their introductory two-for-one Prosecco package on arrival.
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Its pin-striped, bowler-hatted, serious looking men, constantly exchanging chits of paper with each other to no ultimate purpose, evokes Dickens' circumlocution office.
I became the only man in history to be sacked from the position of hostage. It’s hard to extract the positivity from that. The joy of uncommon individuality rarely endures.
Only a few years ago if you failed in an attempt to kill yourself, you were prosecuted and sent to prison, now you’re given a cup of tea, and a leaflet to read.
I’d go out to a Genesis track, or Led Zep, or something equally shite so that you had no regrets about leaving the earth and all its mediocrities. Then you’d just have to hope that you died before having to listen to it all the way through.
So instead, they adapt their play to take away this risk, and they remove this cheat from their playbook. That’s what a deterrent looks like: utter terror of the consequences of being rumbled. Ask anyone who stole an orange and got sent to Australia for it.
The overall effect of all these moments with the new woman was to make you crave to be at home, whilst at the same time, dread the prospect of life’s quotidian transactions.
It's like measuring the time of a 100m sprint to the hundredth of a second, having started it with a flag.
Earlier, I endured a Proustian, bollocks-first, flight, onto a hard and sharp object. Now, suddenly, I experience a Eureka moment that is also Euphoric. I transcend the earthly to the numinous, accompanied by easy-listening, Euro-pop, played on a euphonium.
Dickie White's Diary 
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