I was never going to disappear without a name.

I knew that better than almost anybody alive, and I said it to you anyway, on a Tuesday, because I had worked out that it would move you.

I got up so fast that the chair went back on the floorboards and made a noise that I can still hear.

And I shouted at an empty room.

I want that in here because it was ugly and because it was the truest thing I did that year.

I said: “What did you do?”