This column has no point
We are starving here in Paris, my friend and I. We have not left our flat all day, in catastrophic fear that, if we do, we will embark on a disastrous spree of spending money we don't have. What we do have is this: a carton of Lucky Strikes, a jar of instant coffee, and a galaxy of Karma to burn. He is stone broke and I am skidding turbulently in that same direction. It is only a matter of time before I too am side-swiped with poverty. Cover your eyes children, the collision is bound to make priests wince with contempt and spur parents into rowdy protest as they pound on the doors of decency.

