My father loved Monty Python. I was nine the first time he showed me Flying Circus. Dinsdale (“you mean to say he nailed your head to the floor?” “At first, yeah”) and Biggles (“when I have the antlers on, I am not dictating”) and all of the irreverent nonsense. A few years earlier we’d lived upstairs from a cheese shop, and I don’t remember if my paren…
© 2024 Annika Barranti Klein
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