Everyone has an opinion about my life – how I live and why. Who’s there and – more importantly – who isn’t. They care what I do and with whom. I’m too old, too young. Working too hard and not doing enough. Who would I be if I didn’t care what they thought? After all of these years, their ideas have stuck themselves to me like feathers to honey and it’s impossible to see clearly without at least an irritating bit of bird fluff in the corner of my eye to remind me of just how I should be doing it better, slower, earlier or in some entirely other way.
