I know this bloke called Doug. But he doesn’t know me—not the real me. Then again, you could write a book about what Doug doesn’t know. A big book. Make the bible look like some joker’s tweet. You could fill the internet with Doug’s soul-shattering depths of ignorance.
Out on a picnic the other day, I said to him, “Would you pass me a boiled egg please, Doug?”
The look he gave me! I have told him—a thousand times—what a picnic involves. But, when it comes to the crunch, will he pass me an egg?