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" ...
I think of him as a social worker, but I know heīs
not that. Heīs a volunteer attached to the
Trust,
and heīs got no qualifications, so he canīt be all bad
... " (p. 102)
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" ...
I used to cry to oprea,
Puccini mostly.
Donīt laugh. I thought the best soundtrack was tunes,
tunes and more tunes. But now I cry mainly to a record
I never used to listen to much, and donīt particularly
remember buying: Southern Soul Belles, on the
Charly label
... " (p. 102)
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" ...
On Southern Soul Belles you hear the lungs. When
Doris Allen sings
"A Shell of a Woman",
you know that she could just open her mouth and blast any man out of the door
... " (p. 103)
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" ...
One of the things Iīm supposed to be doing these days is
creative visualization,
you know, where you imagine your white corpuscles strapping
on their armour to repel invaders. ... but if I try to visualize
them any more concretely I think of
Raquel Welsh, in Fantastic Voyage.
Thatīs the film where they shrink a submarine full of
doctors and inject it into a dying manīs bloodstream ...
Itīs not a very promising therapeutic tool, if every time
I imagine my bodyīs defenses I think of their trying to
kill Raquel Welsh. I still canīt persuade myself the
corpuscles are the good guys
... " (p. 104)
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" ...
Iīll bet his corpuscles donīt need a pep talk,
Crack troops, no doubt about it. Iīll bet he drinks
Carling Black Label
... " (p. 104)
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" ...
Why would anyone crucify his feet in the name of style - assuming that
liver-colored Doc Martens
are stylish in some way - when comfortable training shoes are readily
available almost everywhere?
... " (p. 104)
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" ...
If the Princess of Wales
was coming to pay me a visit, if she was coming to lay her cool
hand on my forehead, stifling her natural desire to say Oh Yuk -
Iīm with you there, Di - I might even trim my fingernails
... " (p. 104)
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" ...
Mind you, my Mother thinks that anyone collecting for Slim research in
Eastbourne or
Leamington would
get a few strokes from a rubber-tipped cane, if nothing worse
... " (p. 105)
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" ...
Fresh lamb suasages, he explains, with mint and parsley, on a bed of
green pea purée. An old family recipe, that appeared quite by chance in last weekīs
Radio Times
... " (p. 105)
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" ...
I could settle my mind. I could see whether he skips along the road to
the Tube,
or whether heīs too drained to do more than shamble
... " (p. 106)
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" ...
There is something dogged about him that I resent as well
as admire, a dull determination to go on and on, as if he was an
ambulance-chaser
condemned always to follow on foot, watching as the blue lights fade in the distance
... " (p. 107)
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