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transparency of a glass office? I persevered. ‘I know you’re probably finding it a bit weird receiving all of this increasingly brilliant news from your boss on a daily basis. It’s weird for me too. The truth is… our factory is just unbelievably successful. In fact, our accountant is worried we might have too much money’. I felt the air soften. It was like watching a fast motion nature video of a million roses blooming simultaneously. I became a full-time bearer of good news. For the next three weeks I ran a factory devoted to the manufacture of applause. ROAMING MASSEUSE! CIRCUS TUESDAYS! I only spoke to induce cheering. LIFETIME EMPLOYMENT GUARANTEE! I brought so much sunshine into people’s lives my skin blistered. Although the prosecution would later describe this time as a ‘manic lying spree’, I remember it as my month of magical thinking. 60
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Loveborough No one dies here or chews their food properly. We break bread rolls in half and choke until we gulp. We stay up all night talking animatedly to dial tones. We hit small children whenever we gesticulate. Occasionally someone faints and we hold a funeral then applaud and cheer when they inevitably revive, shouting ‘It’s a miracle!’ We shout ‘miracle’ a lot: when the coffee is drinkable, when the drizzle stops. No one keeps receipts. Our tenement buildings are modelled after comfortable Scandinavian prisons so we get our groceries home delivered, chill out most of the year, lightly repent. Everyone has a running machine facing a blue wall. The most beautiful woman in the world around here is called Samantha and she loves me. She sent a letter telling me so. I read it to my cactus and it flowered. My yearning often paralyses me in my armchair for entire days, the phone just rings and rings. Samantha leaves long voicemails screaming ‘Wake up!’ petrified I’m dead. She’s adorable like that. I’m an addict. I keep a pill on the roof of my mouth but never swallow it. I will never swallow it. No one dies here or grinds their pepper. We pour peppercorns onto our pasta. In our crumbling music halls, we sing about finality and trail off before the last verse, laugh, pour a big wine. We don’t end romances we let them overlap indefinitely until we forget their names. 61

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transparency of a glass office? I persevered. ‘I know you’re probably finding it a bit weird receiving all of this increasingly brilliant news from your boss on a daily basis. It’s weird for me too. The truth is… our factory is just unbelievably successful. In fact, our accountant is worried we might have too much money’. I felt the air soften. It was like watching a fast motion nature video of a million roses blooming simultaneously. I became a full-time bearer of good news. For the next three weeks I ran a factory devoted to the manufacture of applause. ROAMING MASSEUSE! CIRCUS TUESDAYS! I only spoke to induce cheering. LIFETIME EMPLOYMENT GUARANTEE! I brought so much sunshine into people’s lives my skin blistered. Although the prosecution would later describe this time as a ‘manic lying spree’, I remember it as my month of magical thinking.

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