Food is very important; food is not important: make your mind up, for goodness’ sake, Richard. OK.
All certainty is a lie at this point. Only shouting loudly in the face of a loved one is acceptable now. It’s like deciding what to have for dinner at tea time, with a child shouting.
I am starting to get the distinct impression that I don’t enjoy comedy any more. And I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it.
I have often taken the view that life is utterly meaningless, and I find that unshakeable.
Ah, parenthood: it’s great isn’t it? Except for those times when it isn’t quite.
This is about the bad times: the good times can speak for themselves.
I’m not sure if I’ve shared this one with you before, but I am a rather bitter and angry person, and that bitterness sometimes spills over in to abject contempt.
What shocks me is the ability of some people to take offence at food which differs even slightly from that which their mother made while they were growing up.