My handwriting and badly wrapped parcels (although it might be ‘potatoes’ given the current, ongoing handwriting crisis). Other people’s opinions when they run counter to mine, but not the people themselves as this would have implications for my opinion about my younger self (best ignored, probably), and all carpets (although, again, this could well be ‘teapots’; ‘carpets’ and ‘teapots’ are interchangeable in the current state of handwriting affairs). Forgotten messages and triple-heart bypass surgery when it goes wrong. Mountains which are officially mountains, but which are clearly too small and don’t look mountainy enough, and men’s suits. Ruined castles (if we continue like this then eventually the world’s surface will be nothing but ruins [okay, so that’s going to happen anyway] and, furthermore, castles are just faded monuments to some rapacious, medieval, self-appointed king who liked stabbing people so he could get his own way – how culturally edifying to remember such people with plaques and guided tours. I could go on but I’ve probably said enough on this already) and refurbished castles. Soup served on plates (I’m assuming this has already happened in some cutting-edge restaurant; either that or I’m being psychic, again) and all arguments. Dance floors and the people on them. People who have never read a philosophy book and people who only ever read philosophy books. All sporting endeavours (apart from the failures) and all sporty people (apart from the injured ones). Everything and nothing. The past and the future. The unbroken chain of command and people who look like Wednesdays. The hole left in the wall by a rawl plug which stays there for years and the word ‘rawl’. My handwriting when I’m in this frame of mind and, also when I’m in this frame of mind, most things (if not everything; see previous item on list).