[Oh well. I suppose I could at least use this opportunity to get rid of some of the worst of the absolute dross? God, but there's so much of it, even here! Who would have guessed, for instance, that this immense, gassy fabric of the stars would somehow develop an ability to snigger over cruel, dear or obscene representations? Not me. Not me, for one, my clear impossible angel!]

x.
Well, of course, we almost certainly wouldn't have quite the same opinion about childhood, would we, if it didn't come until later on in life? But that would be so difficult even for the Almighty to arrange. And - let's be quite honest here - why should he particularly want to? He's been through all that before, has he not? Yes. Before and long before, yes, yes, yes.

x.
Yes, I too have occasionally thought of making up some sort of a list before I go - a list of things which have on the whole turned out by and large not to be a severe disappointment to me in life. Mr. Hafiz [(?)presumably not the Persian poet, c.1380-c.1830?] told me he stopped when he found he had passed a hundred and thirty in less than half an hour. But, these days, where is one supposed to find a spare half-hour? And what sort of a number is a hundred and thirty anyway? Yes. H'm. Two by five by thirteen. But tell me. Have ...