108

"How do you do? I am a writer."
"I'm very well, thank you. I am a writer too."
"Jolly Dee. Aren't us writers just brilliant?"
"Yes, I'm sure that if I wasn't a writer, I'd be feeling terrible, but as it is I'm feeling very well, as I just mentioned."
"And I'm feeling very well as well, thank you for asking."
"Where would the world be without our writing?"
"Urrrrh. I shudder to think."
"Writing makes the world go round. There's no two ways about it."
"Would you like some Parmesan cheese, to sprinkle on your pasta?"
"No thanks, but is there any pesto?"
"Yes, there's some over there. Would you like me to pass it to you?"
"Yes please."
"Here it is."
"Thank you very much."
"I think us writers are a kind of master race."
"I don't think people who don't write should be allowed to vote in elections."
"It's writing that distinguishes man from the animals."
"People who don't write aren't worth contemplating."
"Apart from Suzi Quatro."
"Apart from Suzi Quatro, yes indeed."
"Mind you, it's such a heavy burden, being responsible for the human race's spiritual well-being, the way we writers are."
"Ah, yes, but it's such sweet music, the sound of tapping on keyboards."
"You see that man over there, with the dark hair?"
"Yes."
"Isn't that Dave Bartram, the lead singer out of Showaddywaddy?"
"Well, I'm blowed. So it is."

107

I am going to dig a great big hole.

106

Q: Hello. You've owned every make of car, haven't you?
A: I had no Honda. Hi!
Q: Which car is the jewel of your collection?
A: A gem? Omega.
Q: But which do you like above all others?
A: Er, a love? Volare.
Q: Is there any type of driver you really dislike?
A: Ah, an ass in a Nissan - aha!

105

104

Then it all went horribly wrong.

‘Oh dear,’ said Peter, ‘it’s all gone horribly wrong. Blast!’

‘Oh no,’ said Ginny, ‘what a shame.’

'What a turn-up for the books,’ commented Harry.

‘And it was all going so well,’ added Bernard, thoughtfully.

‘How best can we deal with this sudden crisis?’ asked Eric, ever the practical one.

'We’ll just have to be stoical,’ replied Jennifer.

‘It’ll be a good bracing challenge, to make things go right again’ said Paul, with an enthusiasm that was partially convincing.

‘Look on the bright side,’ said Stephen, ‘at least we’ve got our health.’ He didn’t notice Cuthbert, who at that very moment was turning purple and frothing.

‘Let's sing a song, to show how cheery we are, even in the face of adversity,’ said Joyce.

‘Yes, let's,’ the others cried out in unison.

‘It’ll be a tour de force of resilience,’ stated Alan, emphatically.

And so they sang a song. And rather a good song it was too, in my humble opinion. Would you care to join in, dear readers? It goes like this:

La la la lee la lee la

Dum dum diddly-oh de-doh

Dee dee dee de dee de dee

Fodli-oh deodih fodiddleye

103

Goodbye, Jimi Hendrix. Fare thee well, Bob Dylan. So long, John Lennon. Cheerio, Jim Morrison. Be seeing you, Joni Mitchell. Toodlepip, Mick Jagger and Keith Richards.

102

Last Monday I sat on a bench, surrounded by the ruins of a castle, in a large town by the coast. The sun had set, but there were street lamps around: it was not fully dark. The atmosphere was still and powerful, redolent of so much. A classic scene for a landscape painting, a postcard or a dramatic episode in a film.

It was Bank Holiday Monday in August, it was not raining, I was yards away from central streets, and yet there was no one else there at all. Much as my solitude enhanced the atmosphere, I did not like feeling that I was doing something abnormal - unique among the town-dwellers at that moment. Why wasn't I sat at home watching television (perhaps watching scenes of atmospheric castle ruins), or drinking in a horrible noisy bar, or squabbling with lovers or relatives? Or why were other people doing that, rather than sitting peacefully in the castle ruins? It's disquieting, because like nearly all people I do desire to live amongst a community for whom I feel empathy.