Before He Can Become A Wolf, The

It's Every Woman's Tragedy, That, After A Certain Age, She Looks Like A Female Impersonator. Mind You, We've Known Some Lovely Female Impersonators, In Our Time.

As For My Father, Few Souls Are Less Troubled. He Can Be Simply Pleased With Us, Pleased That We Exist, And, From The Vantage Point Of His Wondrously Serene Old Age, He Contemplates Our Lives Almost As If They Were Books He Can Dip Into Whenever He Wants. His Back Pages, Perhaps.

He Is, I Think, Already Pondering A Magisterial Project: That Of Buggering The English Language, The Ultimate Revenge Of The Colonialised.

I Know That Whenever A Group Of Women Are Gathered Together, The Grandmother Always Makes A Phantom Appearance, Hovering Above Them.

A Fairy Tale Is The Kind Of Story In Which One King Goes To Another King To Borrow A Cup Of Sugar