My wannabee novel, mid-life crisis.
My mid Life Crisis began when I turned 40. Or, perhaps more accurately, when I was 40 years and one day old. It began in the giraffe compound at the zoo. At about 6.23 a.m. On a Tuesday.
Somehow the conversation has culminated in this: Sting offering himself up as a chicken.
“This is your office,” Bryan said to me the next day.
Running a charity was becoming just like being a student, or my early years as a music journalist: a drunken stagger from one day to the next, with no coherent link between the two.