Self Portrait
No, I think this chap was just standing in the road when the rain started to fall, and the chap in his van was listening to the football scores and the scores of mostly men in cardigans (they weren’t wearing cardigans) were running onto the field to the celebrate. ‘Celebrate your love and celebrate your hate,’ the chap said in a mood that was quite substantial, as his mother slept in the next room, and his father ran over a phrase some more that was lightning. ‘It’s lightning,’ he said the next time he saw his son and he showed him. And his son said, ‘Just play it slower so you can feel it. To hell with it being faster. I mean, it’s all very impressive, but if you can’t relax into it, what’s the point.’ The point was that the magazine said it was important and properly required. But what if it wasn’t? The chap got up and went to the window. He was not tired. The town was quiet. The woman who chopped the tree down in her garden to make way for a summer house she had yet to ...