Maybe because our upbringings were fairly normal bar the standard vicissitudes we are all
heir to. Whereas you seem to be still living a nightmare of your draggings-up- drunken
Irishman, fights with slum neighbours- am I getting close- or too close for comfort? The
other day you were spilling out your heart to me, remember? Smelly old iron train
through rat-infested foreigner-ridden slums being pummelled by loud-mouths using a whole
cacophony of heathen languages.

Taffy, firstly you use the word 'vicissitude', then closely follow it with 'cacophony' - what's going on?

Have you contracted some form of nosocomial disease or are you just trying to give Turnoi a heart-attack?