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A broadsheet obituarist once pointed out to me that veteran soldiers die by rank. First to go are the generals, admirals and air marshals, then the brigadiers, then a bit of a gap and the colonels and wing commanders and passed-over majors, then a steady trickle of captains and lieutenants. As they get older and rarer, so the soldiers are mythologised and grow ever more heroic, until finally drummer boys and under-age privates are venerated and laurelled with honours like ancient field marshals. There is something touching about that.
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The biggest misconception about me is the bad-boy image that everyone stuck me into due to my tattoos, drug days and the constant changes I make with my hair color.
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But people who really know me, know that I am not a bad boy at heart I am a big teddy bear.
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And you've got a boy right there who looks at you like he would drink your bathwater if you'd ask him!
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My journey began with a single pencil. While traveling through India in 2006, I asked a boy begging on the streets, 'If you could have anything in the world, what would you want?' and he answered me with two words: 'A pencil.' Luckily, I had one in my pocket, and in the second it took me to give it to him, a defining dream was born.
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Like all New York hotel lady cashiers she had red hair and had been disappointed in her first husband.
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All love affairs end. Eventually the girl is gonna put curlers in her hair.
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I don't know how long a child will remain utterly static in front of the television, but my guess is that it could be well into their thirties.
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Three minutes thought would suffice to find this out; but thought is irksome and three minutes is a long time.
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People should be left to believe what they like, so long as they harm no one else. Apart from normal expectations of politeness, it is not however clear why people should require their personal beliefs to be treated with special sensitivity by others, to the point that if others fail to tip-toe respectfully around them they will start throwing bombs.
