Sorry. Had to pop out.
Back in fifteen minutes.
And they never, ever put the time on, so you don’t know when
the fifteen minutes started. This goes some way towards vindicating my attitude
to human beings.
* * *
Somebody who knew of my many dalliances and truncated
relationships once called me a commitmentphobe. They were in error. A
commitmentphobe is somebody who is capable of making a commitment but dislikes
the idea and so fights shy. I never disliked the idea of making a commitment. The
intention to commit was, ironically, an integral part of the romance game. The
problem was that by the time I approached middle age I realised that I was
simply incapable of doing so. I was born without the commitment gene. I suppose
it’s a bit like colour blindness and equally blameless.
And then there were those people who told me: ‘You just
haven’t met the right woman yet.’ They were so certain of the fact, but they
were speaking from ignorance. Had they known me they would have realised that there
was no such thing as the right woman. Foolish people are so damnably convinced
of their simplistic certainties. And now I really am tired of talking about
women.
* * *
I woke up in the dark early hours of this morning certain that
there was some sort of discarnate entity in my bedroom which was not friendly.
It was pretty spooky, and I’m not easily spooked. I convinced myself that it
was best ignored and eventually went back to sleep. It's happened before.
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