Categories: uncategorized
Date: 28 March 2007 08:19:00
Christ, I'm tired... The little runt was four now, yet it was taking a long time to recover from being woken in the early hours of the morning. When Dave had been doing nights, he'd come in, then drift off, only to be yanked up again by a cry from the slumbrous woodlands. Dave had fought his way through whippy boughs of fatigue to where Carl trampled and snuffled in his cot. Dave had felt stunned as night after night snapped in two or three pieces. This, he had realised, is how soldiers feel in combat... It was then that the ordinary heroism of parenthood struck Dave hard in his selfish face. It was striking him still: They oughta give you a fucking medal...Will Self, The Book Of Dave