Like what we always say when we hear news of Sebastian Vettel, my hair is in fine fettle today. Days like this one, I can just sit and stroke it for miles and miles, because it’s so soft. Some people have got kind of coarse hair, just like wire – but mine, mine is soft and fine.
People often say to me, they say, “oh, it must be so nice to have such soft hair,” but it has its downsides, because how the leopard can I get any work done if all I want to do is rumple my hair all day?
Well, I can’t. The answer is that I can’t. I can’t achieve anything. Woe unto me, oh, woe unto me.
I haven’t even finished Lauren Collins’s “How the Daily Mail Conquered England” from out of off of the New Yorker yet, but it shows some signs of adequacy. (Piped to the Kindle through Instapaper, of course – I warmly recommend it for reading all sorts of things.)