Spoons

Dear Reader

I hope this letter finds you well.

I also hope it finds you unable to distinguish between letters and blog posts.

But I do hope it finds you.

Where will you be?

Hiding in a wood, perhaps. Or on a train, on your way to a champagne reception for the launch of an immoral perfume.

Maybe you're trapped in the basement of a neighbouring house, or sliding around a giant satellite dish, enjoying this on your smartphone or "portable computron".

Really, it's not me finding you, but you finding me. Thank you for finding me.

I hope this letter finds me well.

Does it?

Well...

Not well, exactly, but I have a day off tomorrow. Which is why I'm so upbeat.

I hope you all have fascinating children.

Yours letterly


Paul X

PS.

PS.

PS.

PS.

[Sorry, I have one of those automatic air fresheners that makes periodic 'ps' sounds, like a flatulent robot cat]

Can it really be that time again? 00:12?

It can. It is that time once a day (not including leap years).

Let's have another edition of the popular That Was The Tweet That Was.

(These are least bad things I have twittered. You can follow the uncut glory here, including jokes that are even worse than these, and my attempts to goad Stephen Fry into a time machine)

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I'm starting a magazine about the Sabbath. It's called The Dependent on Sunday.

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Fools' silence is fool's golden.

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Q: How many orphans does it take to change a lightbulb? A: Two. One to change the bulb, and one to go and fetch you sandwiches or whatever.

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What's the difference between a carrier bag and a carrier pigeon? One has a beak, the other might have a beak if you've been beak shopping.

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Touring #egypt, David Cameron will visit the Bibliotheca Alexandrina and proclaim it the future site of a "fucking spectacular McDonalds".

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The First Cut is the Firstest.

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My thighs are so powerful, they've become incredibly corrupt.

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If I had a pound for every time I fingered a clarinet, I'd have to question the contract negotiation skills of my agent.

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I've never made a list of my Top 10 Favourite Lakes. Understandable, really. I don't have a particular interest in lakes.

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Freak out. Freak in. Freak out again. Freak in. Just keep taking deep freks and you'll be right as rain in no time.

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The World Anti-Blinking Conference: don't blink or you'll miss it.

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If you're thinking of covering yourself in varnish, ask yourself: "will this make me happy in the long run?"

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For future reference, the pronouncement "You're a pie!" could be misheard as "You're up high!". It just came up.

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Sometimes I like to hold a sugar cube, and pretend that I've been shrunken to microscopic size in exact proportion to the sugar cube.

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In the age of Youtube, we've ALL watched a snail crawl along the edge of a straight razor, BRANDO. Not such a big shot now, are you?

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JOKE:
"I've just been on holiday with my ivory dealer."
"Tuscany?"
"No, he usually leaves his work in the office".

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I think I might apply for a job as a litter collector. I don't have much experience, but I pick things up very quickly.

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I've been ignoring myself all day, but haven't even noticed.

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I don't like to simplify my language with acronyms and abbreviations, which is probably why I did so well in my jeeseeyessees.

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The most courageous birds live in a braviary.

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I remove trapped chunks of falsehood with a truthpick.

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A watched stopwatch never stops a pot kettle black.

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For krill, the expression "having a whale of a time" means something much, much worse.

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Before Twitter, my only means of putting off boring tasks was by scratching myself with staples and claiming I'd been attacked by a bat.

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Plans to tackle Office Butterfingers Syndrome have been dropped.

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Holding your breath permanently will eventually stop all hiccups.

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I'm so hungry I could eat a... well, not a horse exactly, but something the same shape and size. With crumpet hooves and a mane of spaghetti

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I can go for months at a time without thinking about Cher.

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Hey! That Iris Pigment Extractor suits you! Really brings out the colour of your eyes.

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I'm going to do the washing-up. I keep ten tiny lifebelts on the side of the sink in case my fingers start to drown.

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Beefinders, beekeepers.

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I think the novelty of the New Forest is fading.

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I reckon during my lifetime I've spent more on salad cream than I have on trousers.

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Funny how the simple act of spilling coffee on yourself in Costa quickly turns you from 'hard-working writer' to 'vagrant with pretensions'.

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9 out of 10 medical professionals recommend shutting up and leaving them alone.

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Every week, I eat enough thousand island dressing to constitute six million islands.

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I need a new look. I might start wearing a hairnet. Or, as they're called in Germany, a 'Mr Net'.

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Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness. Because you're a TERRIBLE conversationalist.

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I could be a shef. I've applied for shef jobs often, explicitly stating 'I want to be a shef' but am rejected for some reason

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I could be a bartender. I don't drink, but I am quite tender. Also, I could kill people called Bart

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I could be a shepherd. I've no herding experience, but I quite like shep. Especially little baby shep. Also, I have a wide variety of crooks

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Disappointment is my Superman.

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I bet psychics are constantly complaining about giving themselves spoilers.

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That's it. Sorry - it was longer than I expected. I'll have to start doing these more frequently.

Or get less funny.

"But that's impossible!"

Aw, thanks!

"No... it was supposed to be an insult. You're literally as unfunny as it's possible to be."

Oh. Well. Fine.

The trouble with Blogger is the formatting is easily screwed up. In my little Preview box, it looks like all those tweets are bunched together in one big paragraph. Like a shoal of fish hoping to survive through strength of numbers.

But it looks OK from here. So what I'll do is publish the post, see what it looks like, and if it is all screwed up I'll meet you back here for an update.

OK? Great.

Wait, I'd better include a picture of some sort first.

It's a spoon warmer.

UPDATE: I didn't even get to post it. The tweets are now showing in their bunched form.

Annoying.

I'll separate them like squabbling children, then post this, then go and pour myself a big mug of SELF-ESTEEM.