So I’ve written an article for The Guardian. And in it, I’ve explained to people that, even if they hate me, I’m still right. After it comes out, Alastair calls.
“It won’t help,” he says. “You’re the whole problem. Everything you can possibly do will only make it worse.”
“But Alastair,” I say. “I’m a pretty straight sort of guy.”
Don’t say that, he says.
“I only did what I thought was right,” I say.
Don’t say that either, he says.
“But I feel the hand of history on my shoulder,” I say, miserably.
Just stop talking, he says.