We are in the process of trying to explore the possibility of – perhaps – attempting to persuade our local authority if they would like to, one day, conditions permitting, sell us a small plot of woodland.
The wound on my arm has clotted at last, and I have time to breathe again. I sit in the cool of the sheltered cloister and work my way through another bottle of wine.
I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but women – and I genuinely do hate to generalise about these things – are genuinely quite capable.
I don’t like sports. I never have. It just doesn’t grab me. It’s not any one sport that is the issue: I don’t get any of it.
If you got sent back in time to your own body as a teenager, still in full-on high school mode, what would you do?
You know those days when you wake up and you kind of know where you are, but you kind of don’t? Chapter One: Lessons In Temporal Displacement
I don’t like sports. I never have. It just doesn’t grab me. I’ve just described the whole of the sporting world as an amorphous blob; that’s how much it doesn’t grab me.