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My Reggie Perrin Year

August 11, 2015

David Nobbs has just died. Thought about Perrin a lot the day I turned 46.



When people reach their thirty third year they are sometimes said to have reached their “Christ” year.  This somewhat hubristic and messianic  moniker risks the obvious suggestion that the individual in question is likely to be nailed to a cross before reaching their thirty fourth birthday.

By the same logic, I have just (finally) reached my “Reginald Perrin Year”.  This is the year when, understandably frustrated by my own personal  and professional disappointments, I leave my clothing on a beach somewhere, fake a suicide, and attempt to reintegrate myself into society under an assumed identity before relapsing into my former acknowledged self.

I’ve mentioned that I grew up a few hundred yards away from where Pete Townshend grew up.  Those few hundred yards were to the south of our house.  A few hundred yards to the north was where the BBC film Leonard Rossiter’s version of Perrin leaving the house…

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