And, Jesus, the way I tried to make amends for bashing Brian’s head against the wall on his birthday when I was jealous because it wasn’t my birthday. And the way I slapped Jenny in the water and tried to make out like it was a bit of fun. And the way she wouldn’t have sex with me afterwards and the way she sometimes used sex as a weapon punishing me with her abstinence and the way I hit her once more when she complained about the fact that I’d produced spaghetti bolognese two days running and I told her that she could go and fucking cook something more interesting herself, what was stopping her?

And the way she was so worried about her precious exhibition in Gallery One.

Well, picture this, Jenny and I will not do anything more now tonight and I will wait here, sitting much in the same position that I sat, what, an hour ago? and I’m singing ‘Here Comes Your Man’ in my head. It’s going round and round like the way I used to go round and round on the Waltzers in Bray and the pizza I had devoured beforehand made me want to spew and that is the same way I feel now.

And now I’m up, out of my seat and I’m moving around and there isn’t adequate space in this room to get any decent movement going. I go to my CDs and I put on music, unnecessarily loud, the way I like it. I don’t even know what artist I have chosen, all I know is the heft of it and the drum beat is heavy and is reverberating into my loins, or so it seems.