I am currently in the process of deducing how many women that personally know me have blocked me on that social network thing.
So far it’s at least two.
Every one of you who read me – apart from one or two who have actually met me – paint a different picture of who I am. And it’s not hard to imagine myself walking along a corridor where the walls on either side hold these portraits, pausing at each step first to admire it and then to read the name of the artist at the bottom of the frame.
I miss walking through falling show.