I went back through all of it last night. Every message from the twelfth, and every voice note again — yours and mine.
Here's what I found. Over two weeks you asked me fourteen real questions. I answered four of them properly. Three you had to ask twice. One you asked four times. Two never got any answer at all.
It isn't that I didn't want to answer them. It's that my answers wander off down a rabbit hole halfway through, or get interrupted by my own joke, or arrive in six pieces because I was on a train trying to type between stops. And then I'd move on, perfectly satisfied with myself, while you were left holding half a reply and were too polite to say so.
I'm genuinely embarrassed by some of it. Not by what I think — by how badly I delivered it, and by how often you had to come back and ask me again.
So this is what I should have done in the first place. Every question, in one place, answered properly and in full. The stories and the jokes go on top of that, where they belong, not instead of it.
Take it in whatever order you like. And for the record: you never once needed to apologise for asking. I just needed to get better at answering.
