In talking of the disabled beneficiary, in a bout of disingenuousness, founded partly on my always having had my lavish hips and luscious lips, I feign to fail to comprehend the widespread, indeed worldwide lament of weight gain during the lockdowns the entirety of humanity has experienced over the last short while. Part of the reason I didn’t gain weight was that even from the days before Frank Whittle invented the jet engine, I’ve worked from home. I’m the original work from home person. My work visits on account of their rarity are etched on my memory, as indelible as the tablets that were handed to Moses.
So, there we were at Diana’s dining table, on one of the ten visits I’ve made in the last couple of years – we were talking about making provision for her son with special needs, because as you know, beneficiaries with special needs are treated slightly less ungenerously by the tax system — so to illustrate the point I said ‘…yes, that’s the sort of arrangement I’ve made for this other person with special needs, his only pleasure is attending Crystal Palace {Football Club] home games.’ She laughed. She laughed so hard the table shook. She laughed so hard the table shook so hard the teapot fell off the table.
You know that thing, when someone laughs so hard they appear to suffering an asthma attack. Between her sobs of laughter, she managed to articulate the sentiment: ‘Well, you don’t know anything about football do you? I mean, describing following Crystal Palace as a pleasure.’.
She regained her composure, she barely held herself together sufficiently to sign the papers.
