“Our lives don’t have a plot until the end, and you’re left asking who the hell was writing it, why were they so obsessed with tea and sex and could you have a refund?”
“If you want to keep a secret, you must also hide it from yourself.” – George Orwell
Apologies to people arriving here in the hope of some dirt, some unadulterated drunken admissions that upon waking deliver you into a fresh world of unrepairable fury and decimation. It’s not a confessional It’s too early in my life for that.
There’s so much we don’t tell people, and frankly it’s probably for the best. I’m not just referring to first dates when you neglect to mention your favourite past time is lying passed-out on the sofa in front of 24hours live-feed of World Golf tournaments. I’m referring to all those bits of us that tick-over in our heads unbeknown to anyone. Our lives are like that John Arnold quote about war as ‘long periods of boredom punctuated by short moments of excitement,’ only the excitement is not spilling take-away coffee over yourself on…
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