My sister is breaking up with her husband. Somehow, her children’s lawyer comes round to interview me as a witness. God knows why, perhaps to see what sort of numbskull I am. He asks me: “what are you going to do with your life?” Not really having thought about it (I am only forty eight), and because I am a numbskull, I say: “I will be this country’s greatest ever poet.”

I hate poetry. Just so, I’m in with a good chance. And especially because of my prolific silence. I do not expect to be published before the year 2891.

I assume my country will still be here.

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