te or t seemed to be keeping pace rain. t type, neting opposite me. One of t tted me for one of t tion full of legal baloney t to impress t of us and s t belong to the common herd.
I c. t Bletc of t it’s kind of peaceful, t of little backyards s of flouck in boxes and t roofs black bombing plane stle in t I couldn’t see it. I ting o t it for just a second. I kneter it’s o be a o ts noime, one year’s time, ing our bags .
t down his Daily Mail.
‘templegate’s winner come in,’ he said.
ting some learned rot about fee- simple and peppercorns. t in coat pocket and took out a bent oodbine. in t and to me.
‘Got a matcubby?’
I felt for my matcubby’, you notice. t’s interesting, really. For about a couple of minutes I stopped t bombs and began t my figure as I’d studied it in my bat morning.
It’s quite true I’m tubby, in fact my upper exactly tub. But eresting, I t merely because you o be a little bit fat, almost anyone, even a total, stranger, ake it for granted to give you a nickname t’s an insulting comment on your personal appearance. Suppose a c or a o remind ? But every fat man’s labelled as a matter of course. I’m type t people automatically slap on t. I never go into t Pudley (I pass t t ass aters, ired of. aters a finger like a bar of iron. t man doesn’t have any feelings.
took anotco pick eetrain a glimpse of a baker’s van and a long string of lorries loaded . t in a about fat men. It’s a fact t a fat man, particularly a man ’s to say—isn’t quite like ot plane, a sort of lig fairs, or in fact anyone over ty stone, it isn’t so muc comedy as lo and tness makes to your outlook. It kind of prevents you from taking too , a man ions. no experience of suc ever be present at a tragic scene, because a scene isn’t tragic, it’s comic. Just imagine a fat , for instance! Or Oliver ing Romeo. Funnily enoug out of Boots. asted Passion, it ory finds out t in novels, t ive faces and dark e income. I remember more or less :
David paced up and doo o unned ime believe it. Srue to could not be! Suddenly realization rus in all its stark oo much. he flung himself down in a paroxysm of weeping.
Any somet. And even at time it started me t, you see. t’s ed to be a c off for a t I’d care a damn, in fact it o find t sill got t muc in suppose I did care, me to? You couldn’t, obscene.
train . A little beloretctle red roofs lig t because a ray of sunsc bombs. Of course tion t it’s coming soon. You can tell is by tuff talking about it in t said t bombing planes can’t do any damage noi-aircraft guns so good t to stay at ty t. tice, t if an aeroplane’s reac t places like Ellesmere Road.
But taking it by and large, I t, it’s not so bad to be fat. One t a fat man is t o bis man doesn’t fit in and feel at men o t’s all bunk to imagine, as some people do, t a man as just a joke. trut a look on ANY man as a joke if h her.
Mind you, I al. I’ve been fat for eig of teristics. But it’s also a fact t internally, mentally, I’m not altoget. No! Don’t mistake me. I’m not trying to put myself over as a kind of tender flo be get on in t. I’m vulgar, I’m insensitive, and I fit in . So long as any all circumstances I’d manage to make a living—alune—and even in ion, plague, and famine I’d back myself to stay alive longer t people. I’m t type. But also I’ve got somet. I’ll tell you about t later. I’m fat, but I’m t ever struck you t t man, just as tatue inside every block of stone?
tc eethe Express.
‘Legs case don’t seem to get much forrader,’ he said.
‘t ‘im,’ said tify a pair of legs? t they?’
‘Migrace ‘im t.
Doretcing t reets, but stretc you could ’s ty miles of a break. C! one great big bull’s-eye. And no conference. Some quiet morning, o the corpses.
Seems a pity some. I looked at t sea of roofs stretcreets, fried-fisin cure tle printing-sories, blocks of flats, ations—on and on and on. Enormous! And t! Like a great s. No guns firing, nobody cing anybody else up runco t, in t t t a single bedroom window from which anyone’s firing a machine-gun.
But five years from nowo years? Or one year?