For feel-good fiction to work, there has to be an element of darkness.

I sighed. "What is life but fleeting moments of happiness strung together on necklace of despair?

Love and kindness go hand in hand.

Hen nights should be banned. You're honour-bound to behave atrociously, then feel terribly ashamed afterwards. (This Charming Man)

Why do we have such a finite capacity for pleasure but an infinite one for pain?

I am different when my nails are done. I am more dynamic. I gesticulate more, I am better at scaring my staff. I can indicate impatience by drumming on tabletops and I can wrap up a meeting with a few choice clatters.

So I'm back again to the eternal question, the one that has plagued me all my life: How Do Other People Do It? How come they were given life's rule book and I missed out? Where was I when God was dispensing capability and cop on? Looking at shoes, probably.