This morning I took my daughter on a playdate to see the Crystal Palace dinosaurs, or as I have enjoyed calling them, the wrong dinosaurs. They are so brilliant and brash in their wrongness. The Megaladon on all fours like a bulldog guarding the entrance of a Victorian brothel. The Iguanadon with its thumb-spike growing from its nose, its own wrongness a blur in the middle of its vision, always intruding on its view of the correct world. I have been wrong about so many things and have been an insufferable fool in my wrongness. In accepting that I will be wrong at a great many things for the rest of my days, I can only hope that I parade my wrongness like these brilliant creatures. They never really lived and will therefore never die.