Why you always think of the witty response when it’s much too late

I have just walked home from an afternoon in the park with Robin and his friends playing ‘football’. It was a very sociable afternoon. The sun was shining. I felt, as I always do when spring finally gives the elbow to winter, quite a lift in my spirits. I might even have been smiling. But as we turned the corner from Smith’s Field, past Mary’s house, a young man caught my eye and said, ‘What’s wrong, love? Someone died?’ By the time we got home, I had thought of probably twenty witty responses. Unfortunately, at the time, I could only wonder at his lack of social grace. Which completely froze my vocal chords.

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