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Shall we talk about what it means to turn thirty in general?
It was so long ago I can hardly remember, but just before my great-nephew was carted off into rehab the last time, I seem to recall him shouting about the realisation he'd come to, recently, which was that he was 'a bloke.' That was all, he was simply 'a normal bloke.' Nothing fancy. That he was into football, DIY and making an honest woman out of a lady he referred to as 'some poor dupe' that he was planning on cornering by the office coffee machine, while sober, and the lights seem to go out in his little eyes as the gurney swept him away, after he said that. I saw him one time after this, and he was reading a novel by Tony Parsons, his whole body convulsed by sobs ... Alex is never going to leave The Priory now, and I can't say I blame him. He would have to go to Ikea, possibly. He would possibly have to go to Ikea. |
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