Self-Knowledge: The Elusive Truth

In which our hungover author reflects on the internal and external paths

I’m sitting outside my house, at the end of a road off a road off a road. Under the sunshine, amid the morning birdsong, I don’t know what to write. My mind is less of a razor’s edge than a butter knife this morning. I had friends over last night. There were drinks, music, arm wrestling, paint tin petrol fires and a garnish of weed. It was a fun night. …