ANOTHER SOUL, ANOTHER LANGUAGEI don’t know how to talk to people. There’s always a thick wall of transparent cotton wool between us. I don’t understand anyone. There are those who pick and choose lemons from the bottom of the box and spend hours wandering around clothes shops. Then there are those who don’t give a toss about the first lot. Power-dressing business women in top management. Middle-aged men with paunches. Pedagogues, ha-bloody-ha. My fellow alcoholics. Not forgetting the wretched “yoof ”, of course. The way they behave is predictable. Explainable. Even if why they do what they do is a big mystery to them. All their jokes fall completely flat.
Anyone who learns a new language acquires another soul. Or so the Czech saying goes — it always used to surprise me, even back in the d
