Ragged Trousered Me

A story written in seven minutes, based around the sentence, ‘Suddenly, the fog cleared, and I could see the path…’

The book had been a fairly arbitrary find. I had been attracted to it by its decorative cover more than anything else. I often wonder now how different things would be, how different I would be, had the publishers elected to give it a more bland design.

I had been rummaging through the mounds of literature which had been left behind by my sister. She had been the previous occupant of this flat I had recently moved into, and I was keen to get rid of all the flotsam and jetsam left in her wake. Nonetheless, this novel caught my eye and was granted a reprieve.

I cannot remember now exactly how and when I eventually opened it, nor at what precise moment the epiphany, the blinding flash, the Damascene conversion occurred. Suddenly, the fog cleared, and I could see the path… Robert Tressell was long dead, but his Ragged Trousered Philanthropists were alive in me. It was, I can say without hyperbole, a literary choice which changed my life irrevocably.

Forever I will be grateful to my sister, for leaving such an exceptional and edifying bit of prose in my possession.


Solidarity brothers & sisters…

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About Seba Roux

Gooner, Socialist, Historian, Slacker. That's pretty much all you need to know.
This entry was posted in Gibberish, Politics and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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