They Thought I Was Dead: Sandy’s Story

53 September 2011

On the occasions when Roy and I had friends around for dinner we liked to play party games after the meal, when everyone was well lubricated. The games were all pretty harmless, except for one, the Truth Game. That was dangerous and Roy hated it when anyone suggested it.

It was dangerous because when loaded with drink, the booze took away people’s inhibitions, making them want, all of a sudden, to unload their confessions: tell everyone the worst things they had done; their secret desires; the thing they were most embarrassed about. Often it was too much information! My old dear friend Tamzin said she and Ferris played it at a dinner party they gave and it resulted in one couple getting divorced. Wasn’t it T. S. Eliot who said that humankind cannot bear very much reality?

One question invariably would be: what is the worst thing you have ever done?

What I am about to do is truly one of the worst things I have ever done. I have £1.2 million tucked up in a suitcase in my car. I know it is dishonest money and it does not belong to me. But this is not a time to be virtuous. I am not about to tell the world where it has come from. And I don’t need all of it anyhow, so no dramas.