The Book of Strange New Things Read Online Free PDF Page B

was friendly and there was an odd sense that they were rooting for him to succeed.
    ‘How long can you go without your favourite ice-cream?’
    ‘I don’t have a favourite ice-cream.’
    ‘What smell reminds you most of your childhood?’
    ‘I don’t know. Maybe custard.’
    ‘Do you like custard?’
    ‘It’s OK. These days I mainly have it on Christmas pudding.’
    ‘What do you think of when you think of Christmas?’
    ‘Christ’s Mass, a celebration of Jesus’s birth, held at the time of the Roman winter solstice. John Chrysostom. Syncretism. Santa Claus. Snow.’
    ‘Do you celebrate it yourself?’
    ‘We make a big deal of it in our church. We organise presents for disadvantaged children, put on Christmas dinner at our drop-in centre . . . A lot of people feel horribly lost and depressed at that time of year. You have to try to get them though it.’
    ‘How well do you sleep in beds that aren’t your own?’
    He’d had to think about that one. Cast his mind back to the cheap hotels he and Bea had stayed in when they’d participated in evangelist rallies in other cities. The friends’ sofas that converted into mattresses of a kind. Or, further back still in his life, the tough choice between keeping your coat on so you’d shiver less, or using it as a pillow to soften the concrete against your skull. ‘I’m probably . . . average,’ he said. ‘As long as it’s a bed and I’m horizontal, I think I’m fine.’
    ‘Are you irritable before your first coffee of the day?’
    ‘I don’t drink coffee.’
    ‘Tea?’
    ‘Sometimes.’
    ‘Sometimes you’re irritable?’
    ‘I don’t get annoyed easily.’ This was true, and these interrogations provided additional proof. He enjoyed the sparring, felt he was being tested rather than judged. The rapid-fire questions were an invigorating change from church services where he was expected to orate for an hour while others sat silent. He wanted the job, wanted it badly, but the outcome was in God’s hands, and there was nothing to be gained by getting anxious, giving dishonest answers or straining to please. He would be himself, and hope that that was enough.
    ‘How would you feel about wearing sandals?’
    ‘Why, will I have to?’
    ‘You might.’ This from a man whose feet were sheathed in expensive black leather shoes so shiny that Peter’s face was reflected in them.
    ‘How do you feel if you haven’t accessed social media for a day?’
    ‘I don’t access social media. At least I don’t think so. What do you mean exactly by “social media”?’
    ‘It’s OK.’ Whenever a question got tangled, they tended to change tack. ‘Which politician do you hate most?’
    ‘I don’t hate anyone. And I don’t really follow politics.’
    ‘It’s nine o’clock at night and the power fails. What do you do?’
    ‘Fix it, if I can.’
    ‘But how would you spend the time if you couldn’t?’
    ‘Talk to my wife, if she was at home at the time.’
    ‘How do you think she’ll cope if you’re away from home for a while?’
    ‘She’s a very independent and capable woman.’
    ‘Would you say you’re an independent and capable man?’
    ‘I hope so.’
    ‘When did you last get drunk?’
    ‘About seven, eight years ago.’
    ‘Do you feel like a drink now?’
    ‘I wouldn’t mind some more of this peach juice.’
    ‘With ice?’
    ‘Yes, thank you.’
    ‘Imagine this,’ the woman said. ‘You visit a foreign city and your hosts invite you out for dinner. The restaurant they take you to is pleasant and lively. There’s a large transparent enclosure of cute white ducklings running around behind their mother. Every few minutes, a chef grabs one of the ducklings and tosses it into a vat of boiling oil. When it’s fried, it gets served up to the diners and everyone is happy and relaxed. Your hosts order duckling and say you should try it, it’s fantastic. What do you do?’
    ‘Is there anything else on the menu?’
    ‘Sure, lots of