Rejoist

The below post is too serious and needs to be displaced. Any new reader would instantly think I was a whiny idiot if they read it.

That conclusion isn't one that should be made instantly. It should take months of pouring over my insights, analysing my psychological make-up, and interpreting the nuance and subtlety of my work before realising: "yes, he is a whiny idiot".

I thought about trying to counterbalance the gloom with a boisterous entry.

The trouble is, I'm not particularly boisterous. In fact, I can't remember the last time I boistered.

Yeah, sure, in my younger days, I did my fair share of boistering. Sometimes we'd punt down-river, drown ourselves in Pimms, and then boister until the sun came up.

I once got a police caution for excessive boistering. It wouldn't have been so bad, but I was also loitering at the time. And even the most liberal police officer would not be able to overlook a boisterous loiterer. I was embarrassed - still dripping wet from a dip in the Cherwell.

My friends made matters worse by lifting me into the air. It was a game they used to play often: "Hoist the Moist Boistering Loiterer".

But I've learned my lesson: no more boistering.

I attended regular Boisterers Anonymous meetings. They tend to be necessarily downbeat affairs. Someone wore a comedy tie once, and was badly beaten by the group leader. "It's the only way he'll learn!" they shouted, over the snapping and screaming.

Still, it's done me good. Last week I reached the two-year mark. Two unboisterous years! I don't even think about it. Even if I see someone being boisterous on TV. It's just not me anymore.

So I'm sorry for being unable to provide the boist for this entry. Luckily, I have been writing this whilst in high dudgeon (which I believe is somewhere near Aylesbury).