Tuesday, 9 March 2010

91. Post hoc

I want to get something clear before we go on: just because one thing happens after another thing, that does not mean that there is any causal relationship between the two of them.

I mean, I come home from work. The sun sets. Not, I come home from work – the sun sets, you’ll note. Two things just happen. One thing does not affect the other. We clear? Good.

Because the fact that my wife left me at the age of 40, homeless, hopeless, helpless – after 15 years of submerging my own life to try and build something I never really wanted, that she then so casually destroyed, as if she’d just kicked down a sandcastle, turning 15 years of my life into a total waste of time – because that has nothing whatsoever to do with the events that I’m about to relate. Bear that in mind at all times.

Okay, so six weeks after my wife walked away, I was in Camden with Anya, getting my first tattoo. It was a star with 15 points. A Russian prisoner’s tattoo, Anya said. I never asked how she knew these things.

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