There we sit in the car, headed out to listen to music or to laugh at some clever puss at the Comedy Festival. We chat, we laugh and you find yourself trapped in the car where you can’t escape my questions.
Are you happy?
Some people don’t want to answer questions about themselves, you watch them squirm, shift about in their seat, grip the steering wheel tighter.
You wait to be told … Fuck off!
You laugh louder, you collect the Fuck Offs like badges of honour, you know you have had a good night out if you have had at least one, sometimes if you really try you can get a couple.
That one question … Are you happy? It has been asked twice, a few years apart, each time with different answers …
Lately my questions have dried up, I used to be full of them, and they just went pop, pop, pop into my head. Now I sit and look at the screen and could wait days with nothing, no questions. It can’t be that they are no longer there, they must be hiding, if I look hard enough I should be able to find them.
Perhaps I need to start answering a few of them myself …