...what you wish for.
There was a time when I quite relished the prospect of
becoming an eccentric elderly Englishman. Mel occasionally reminds me of the
fact, because now that the eccentric nature is a fait accompli, the English
identity established by birthright, and the elderly bit not too far ahead, I’m
beginning to wish that the bottle I found on the beach all those years ago had
been empty. Genies have a most mischievous way of chuckling.
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