When my hands emerged from the bag my fingers had dark, inky smeary stains. I had no pen in there, nothing that I could think of that might have caused it. I rubbed my fingers together and the stains started to come off. Oh God, I thought in this room of strangers I had just been smiling at and introducing myself to, did I wipe my head with my hands? Did I have dark streaks like poorly applied war paint on my bald head? I had wanted to make a good impression, tried to leave work early to get there on time, but of course that was impossible. Only a couple of minutes earlier I had come in, breathless and lightly sweating from rushing through London traffic, and now my face was an idiot’s Rambo. That’s just like you, I thought, you think you’re the guy to change everything, to set an example, to walk in and command the space, but you’re an idiot.

I think I got this card in 2005 during a trip to Ireland, and I love Goya. I don’t remember very much from that trip.