Phil Brown

You’re standing in a queue, groaning. “I’m dying over here, I’m losing the will to live!” Did I say that or just think it? People are looking at me strangely. Oops, the inner monologue has become outer again. Is this one of the signs of middle age? When the interior monologue spills over into reality. In  a supermarket it can express itself thus: “Okay guys, where the fuck have you hidden the sultanas? Oh I’m sorry, madam, I don’t mean you!” Someone pushes in front of you at the post office. “That’s alright mate, go right ahead, what am I, chopped liver?” Even in the surf nowadays, fighting the longboarders for some waves. “Don’t worry about me, you fat old longboarders just help yourselves to all the waves, don’t worry about me!” Dirty looks. But there’s something emancipating about letting the inner monologue spill over into the real world. What do you think?