The Frog Prince


Oh, to be young: what I’d give to be him. ie me. This is me thirty years ago or nearly, in a photo that I have always called “The Frog Prince.” That’s because the other person in the room was (finally) Kathleen. I put on the tie in her honor, even though she was sound asleep.

I behaved badly last weekend, at the funeral of Florice, my father’s wife for five yeas. I walked out of the church and kept on walking. In plain truth, I needed a bathroom. HMC has never been good about such mortal requirements, however, so, mad as usual at her perfidious inadequacies, I walked off without a bye your leave to anyone standing on the terraced steps outside St Saviours’s. I feel dreadful about it now. My father expected better.