... you know, like when you can’t round off a text exchange, or get flummoxed by an aggressive idiot in an unwanted conversation. Not so much esprit d'escalier, as esprit de rentré dans la maison et assis à la table de la cuisine.
August 4th – Gents ready-made suits, Shirts, socks, ties, hats, Underwear and shoes, Going up.
I know that he isn’t him. He (the real he) is Nurse Ratched.
Feb 23rd – I’m not the kind of man who tends to socialise, I seem to lean on old familiar ways.
She’d been sat between us at dinner and had this sort of flaky skin, most of which stayed on the seat when she got up.
February 3rd – Guess who’s coming to dinner? Natty Dreadlock.
‘You’ll sell that idea better to Gemma Collins than you will Julia Roberts,’ he said. Then went silent again.
Jan 26th – Mama weer all crazee now.
Thinking about it all again now, it seems far more likely that I am older than I am.
22nd Jan – You can thank your lucky stars that we’re not as smart as we’d like to think we are.
This notion has gained such traction with me that I am starting to think that my father may not have been that bad after all; persuading myself to look at him and his sort like exhibits in a museum from whom I have evolved.
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