Another Recluse's Ramble

'Look at these jeans,’ I said. ‘They’re getting a bit past it. One hole in the knee and another one just above it.’

‘Oh, yeah. I’ve got two holes in my jeans.’

‘Really? Same place?’

‘No. One at the end of each leg.’

Oh, come on. Give us a break. When your only domestic partner is a litre bottle of Whyte and Mackay (Glasgow) Reserve, and your only local friend an ash tree in a field off Church Lane, reality has a different shape, you know?

Mel said that when she applies for a job, it isn’t the job itself that interests her. What interests her is how it will make her feel.

‘That’s what you were saying about life being merely a construct to experience the abstract, isn’t it?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

And I still hate earnestness.