Enough
Diary of a Serious Literary Author: 17 November 2025
Last night I attended a dinner party hosted by a friend who moves in high circles. The setting was lavish and opulent, and many of the guests were clearly very rich. Their suits were tailored, their shoes hand-stitched and gleaming. My own shoes were rather old and worn.
I was seated across from a man who wore a lot of gold jewellery and spent the whole dinner talking loudly about his yacht, his most recent visit to his golf club, and difficulties he was experiencing with his new private chef. When somebody enquired about his line of work, he told them he was a hedge fund manager. (I do not know what this means, although I assume it relates to foliage.)
Eventually the man caught my eye and asked what I do for a living. I told him I am a Serious Literary Author. He raised an eyebrow and asked if there was ‘much money in that’. I smiled and told him I find it deeply unserious to discuss matters of the wallet. ‘That’s a no, then!’ He exclaimed, before gulping his champagne as the guests around us chuckled.
I paused, then leaned forward and said to the man, ‘I have something you’ll never have’. ‘What?’ He said. ‘Enough,’ I said.
The effect was devastating. The whole table went quiet. I could sense the respect and admiration of my fellow diners. Many of them clearly wanted to applaud. In a single breath, I had usurped this man in status. I had beaten him. He may have a lot of money, but when it came to wit, wisdom and integrity, I was the richer man. Such is the power of words. Such is the power of the Serious Literary Author.
I stood up triumphantly and left the room, all eyes on me as I went. Unfortunately, on my way out, the sole of one of my shoes fell off.
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Shoes, schmoes. You left the field with honor.
Profound. As expected.