Once upon a time, to be born again. If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to hear is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like. Call me Ishmael, my wound is geography. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. The sun shone on nothing new. All this happened, more or less. The sky above the port was the colour of television, tuned to a dead channel. It was like so, but wasn’t. It was a pleasure to burn. Where now? Who now? When now?