This note is all that's left of an RSPCA shop:
I was going to write another glib/melancholy post about blight but (probably because reading the Patrick Melrose novels is giving my bleakness wings) I saw I'd missed the better, crueller story that what survives of us isn't love or ambition, it's disgrace.
Your great-grandchildren won't know your name, your novel will be forgotten, the house you build will be bulldozed, but go bankrupt or to jail and we'll treasure your name for as long as our records keep. Open a charity shop to save your soul (and cats) and the pissant note you scrawl on the wall will soon be all that's left.
Alternatively, go read the Patrick Melrose novels. My God in which I do not believe I wish I could write like that.
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| Please do not leave donations for RSPCA shop outside open 1-4:30 |
Your great-grandchildren won't know your name, your novel will be forgotten, the house you build will be bulldozed, but go bankrupt or to jail and we'll treasure your name for as long as our records keep. Open a charity shop to save your soul (and cats) and the pissant note you scrawl on the wall will soon be all that's left.
Alternatively, go read the Patrick Melrose novels. My God in which I do not believe I wish I could write like that.
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