It's A Strange Sensation To

My Daughter Is A Fantastic Travelling Companion - She's Totally Organised, Whereas I'm Hopeless.

I Can't Even Trust My Own Imaginary Dog. How Much Lower Can A Person Get?

It's Not That He Lacked Poetry. But His Poetry Was Of The Body, Not The Mind. He Spoke It In The Way He Moved, The Way He Held A Hammer, Rowed A Boat, Built A Fire. I, On The Other Hand, Was Like A Brain In A Box, A Beating Heart In A Coal Scuttle.

Osbert Was The Only One Who Didn't Seem Suspicious. He Was So Interested In The Decline Of Western Civilization That He Missed The Version Of It Taking Place Under His Nose.

This Was What Happiness Felt Like - This Wondrous, Miraculous Alternative To Dread.