Prayer for the day

I gave way to despair and toppled forwards. My forehead rested on the pebbles and I felt their cold, smooth hardness. And I prayed.  'Please God,' I said. 'I am such a c**t.' My usual prayer, this, in extremis.

Thus the Greatest Living Writer* in the English language, Jeremy Clarke, in this week's Speccie, who had lost his car keys on the beach. (He found them.)

And by the way, if you think this is him, you too are a c**t.


* Absolutely not this bloke.