You make casual references to things like Wagner’s Ring Cycle and and Proust’s In Search of Lost Time, but you don’t *really* know what either of those things actually… are. You also claim you like to stay up late putting the world to rights, but really, it’s just because you’re drunk and can’t remember where your bedroom is.
You were once tremendously keen on drugs. Now you like to take Epsom Salt baths and tuck crystals into your underwear to keep you connected to a higher spiritual plane. Tap water takes you back to Mother Earth. When it’s, you know, filtered, obviously (you’re not a total barbarian).
As a child, you were caught drinking your mother’s nail varnish remover and it did something weird to your brain. You constantly need to feel the burn – swimming in the freezing sea on Christmas day, sky diving, occasionally getting your head shaved – all regulated by weekly cupping appointments.
You’re so confused by life. There are so many things you want that you think you can’t have. You gave up gluten that time even though you don’t know what gluten is. You started eating goji berries even though you think they taste of plastic. You did that mindfulness course but it just made you feel sad. Diet Coke is your guilty pleasure. It’s OK, it’s DIET. It’s for THIN people. It means you ARE allowed that cigarette in the garden when you get home.
You pull the wings off flies and your favourite programme is Dexter, the one about the serial killer who kills serial killers.
You are quite grand but you like to play it down, dropping consonants self-consciously when you’re at the hairdresser for example, so people won’t guess that you were given a pony for your eighth birthday and that you’re going to inherit in excess of £5 million one day. Either that or you are a Victorian prostitute. Or a hipster.