2012: The Year in Operating System Loyalty Scarf Embroidery Mishaps

Meow.

Or, to any non-cats reading: woof.

It's New Year's Eve. It seems like as good a time as any to make that statement.

The best thing about New Year's Eve is the sewer rats have their fill of discarded punch. It gets poured away every New Year's Day. There's loads of it, because people hate punch. No-one wants to drink punch. Maybe if you're in Hawaii, you might go along with it, just for the cultural experience. Like how people try surfing when they're holidaying in a surfboard shop. But generally, it's hated.

Gallons of it are poured down the sink, flushed down the toilet, or ladled into a bidet. But our loss is the rats' gain. New Year's Day is Rat Christmas. The rodent messiah was actually born in August, but they fudged it. Now it's all part of a big punch-fuelled celebration. If you listen carefully, you can hear slurred rodent carols reverberating up the pipes.

God bless those rats.

But enough about the folly of punch. I didn't come here to write about that. I came here to look back upon the past twelve months. Luckily, I sketched the world once an hour, every hour, all year. Now I have a flip book that can act as my guide, even though I can't draw noses.

DiamondBadger's Headscissors Review of 2012

My Year-End Reviews aren't like those other ones you've read. I'm not aiming for a comprehensive retrospective. I'm not aiming for cultural analysis. I'm not aiming for insight of any kind.

I'm not aiming for anything. I'm blind. I'm just firing my crossbow randomly into the darkness, hoping to bag myself a goose.

Here are the old ones:

2007
2008
2009

2010

2011

If you've been born this year, you might want to read these. They'll catch you up with what's happened to the human race recently. Like one of those "Previously on..." segments you get at the beginning of television programmes. ("Previously on Earth, Paul sullied the internet.")

Each year, I fill in the old categories and add some new ones. Always strive to be the best. Don't get complacent. One day, a blog may be written with categories I haven't even thought of. I need to branch out.

Life-Changing Event of 2012

I went blind.

(That's a half-truth - I'm only blind when I'm mid-blink.)

We bought a flat. I don't know whether we've technically bought it yet, or if there are more confusing hoops to jump through. It has been terrifying, and I can't wait until the transaction is complete. Buying a flat makes me feel like an adult, and feeling like an adult makes me feel like a ten-year-old caught in a tedious administrative version of Big. Hanks I ain't.

Anything else? I've done more stand-up this year. That's something.

There's probably something massive that I've forgotten. Did I change gender this year? It's difficult to keep track. I'm wearing women's underwear, but that's no guarantee of anything (other than a new, sexy layer to the office-gossip lasagne).

Oh, I re-read and catalogued all of my previous blog posts. That was an exhausting odyssey, but has improved my life one-fold.

TV Programme of 2012

It was a good year for television. I don't know if that's true in general, but I certainly saw a lot of things that I liked.

Louie and Breaking Bad continued, and continued to be very good. (Though - and this may be sacrilegious - I found the last couple of Breaking Bad episodes a bit disappointing. Hopefully the final half-season will tie everything up in a nice bloody package.)

I think there are two shows that stand out. They are similar in premise, completely different in execution, and yet similar (again) in heart.

The second season of Fresh Meat was really good. I enjoyed the first season, but the programme seems to have really hit its stride. It's funny, it's touching, and there are lots of good performances (particularly Zawe Ashton as Vod). I just like hanging out with the characters, and I'm looking forward to the next season.

I've watched Community more than I've watched anything else this year. I watched the new episodes, old episodes on DVD, episodes with commentary, extra features, and several billion gifs on Tumblr.

I still can't decide what it is about Community that I like. I'm certainly in love with at least one of the characters, which helps. The best thing about it is that as soon as you think you have it figured out, they'll throw a curveball and deliver something completely different.

They do 'concept' episodes that don't seem cheap or cynical. There's always an obvious affection for the subject matter. There's a whole episode where the characters play a video game, but there are real-world stakes for their success or failure.



It's easy to see why it has such a devoted (i.e. nutty) fan-base.

Shoe of 2012

The golf clog.


Film of 2012

As usual, I haven't seen enough films to make this section worthwhile. I've moved it down the pecking order, so its redundancy is not so obvious.

Which films have I seen this year? Three superhero ones and The Master and Looper.

I suppose Avengers Assemble is a worthy winner. I've probably seen it too many times, though.

I also saw loads of older films. Some of which were good (Paris, Texas; Drive; A Man For All Seasons) and some were less good (The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo; The Happening).

Just to make this section slightly interesting, here's a funny film joke:

Q: What did John Ford say to John Wayne?
A: "We can't have two Johns on this set. From now on, call me Fohn Jord. Action!"

Moment of 2012 (new category!)

I think this category will come back to haunt me next year, but I need somewhere to write about this.

Football is a thing I like. The 2011/12 season was perhaps my favourite of them all.

The main thing was that Southampton were promoted to the Premier League. That was tremendous and surprising. (We also seem to be acclimatising to life up in the big time, though it will be a hard season.) But there wasn't really a "moment" that sent us up.

There were also exciting moments with Chelsea winning the FA Cup, and the Champions League (especially with that Neville-moan Torres-goal ridiculous Barca semi-final).

But the end of the Premier League season was the best "moment". Manchester City won the title from United on goal difference with an injury time winner.

I like it for many reasons, but the main one is that it was a rare case of reality working like fiction. The slimmest of margins, then glory plucked from defeat with seconds to go. It's weird. I don't support Man City, but I can't stop watching that Aguero goal on Youtube. I just find myself watching it if I have a free moment. I suppose I dislike United enough for it to seem like a triumph for me!

The real fun comes from the reactions of other people. I love seeing the dejected City fans suddenly become ecstatic, and tears of sadness turning to tears of joy. This video is a compilation of various fans' reactions to that goal. It's lots of fun, even if you don't like football. The response is so extreme that it's ridiculous. But I won't ridicule them, because I'd totally do the same in their position.




Music of 2012

I did a Grooveshark playlist containing my favourite songs of the year. These are probably my favourite songs of 2012.

Ben Folds Five - Do It Anyway

The album was a bit disappointing, but this song is great. Also, the video has Fraggles.



Killer Mike - Don't Die

This is aggressive and sweary and cool.



Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti - Schnitzel Boogie

This song gets stuck in my head once every three minutes.

Misunderstanding of 2012

I was wrongly named the Sexiest Woman Alive by the readers of FHM magazine. The result was declared null and void when it was discovered that I perished two months previously.

Knock-Knock Joke of 2012 

(Ugh. Thanks for this category, 2011 Paul.)

Knock knock
Who's there?
Jimmy Saville
Oh. I thought you were dead. And... well... tarnished somewhat.
No, that's 'Savile' with one 'l'. I have two.
Oh.
Can I come in?
I'd still prefer it if you didn't. No offence.
None taken.

Stuffed Animal of 2012

I think this will have to go to Martin Startle. He's not only a turtle, but he PROJECTS STARS. Star! Turtle! Startle! Martin!

Lucy bought him for me. He's educational and a turtle. It's a winning combination.

Tendon of 2012

TenDon the Terrifying.

He's a robot that has the strength of eleven Mafia bosses. But ElevenDon sounded stupid.

Ordeal of 2012 (new category!)

This one probably won't be hard to fill in each year. I consider a trip to the Post Office as an ordeal.

This year, I've had the house-buying ordeal. But the most visceral displeasure was jury service. It was scary and boring. It only lasted two days, for which I will be eternally grateful to God and the judge that broke my leg.

Albert of 2012

Stand-up of 2012

I haven't really seen much stand-up this year (except when I've been performing). But I have listened to some new stuff recently, mainly from Americans. Americans are innately hilarious, because they live far away and sound like films.

Kyle Kinane is very funny. I've also watched Maria Bamford's recent comedy special. She performs a gig with only her parents as an audience. It's strange and compelling. You can download it for not much dough here.

Podcast of 2012

I don't listen to podcasts anymore. Except Marc Maron's WTF podcast, which is still good.

But I'd like to fill in this category with a hilarious joke, where I misunderstand what "podcast" means! Here we go!

My favourite podcast this year were the actors who starred in The Poddington Peas!

They are the "cast" of a show about peas. Peas live in "pods". Pod cast.

(!!!!!!)

Number of 2012

Nife.

Celebrity Sighting of 2012

I saw Thom Yorke on the way to work the other day. He was wearing a woolly hat. Why? To keep his superfluous letters warm. I didn't see the superfluous 'e', but the superfluous 'h' was sticking out the top.

Picture of a Vegetable Made in MS Paint of 2012

Odd Celebrity Crush of 2012

I can't think of any this year. Maybe my tastes have become more sophisticated. I might start fancying newsreaders or John Nettles. I need to grow up.

Language of 2012

Body.

Tool of 2012

The "Coward's Lathe" (or "sponge").

Annoyance of 2012

Gambling adverts. They're everywhere. If you watch sport, you can't escape them. I don't think there's anything innately immoral about gambling, but I hate to see massive betting companies trying to sell gambling to the poor as though it's some kind of lifestyle choice.

THEY ARE TRYING TO TAKE YOUR MONEY. THEY ARE NOT ON YOUR SIDE. DON'T GIVE THEM YOUR MONEY.

Disclaimer of 2012

I'm writing this whilst bricked-up in an aqueduct.

Clothing Item of 2012

My blue shirt. Good old bluey. I'm wearing him right now. I could blend into any blue background. I could drown and no-one would notice. Good old bluey.

Catchphrase of 2012 (new category!)

"I'll say!"

Fact of 2012 (new category!)

There are more atoms in a human finger than there are fingers in a human pie. Stay busy.

Best Bit from My Review of 2012

"Good old bluey."

Prediction for 2013

Lloyd's of London will rename themselves "Floyd's of London", and will relocate to one of the other Londons.

***

This has been far too long. The review has taken almost as long as the year itself.

This is me signing off.

I'll see you in 2013. I'm sure we'll all enjoy debating reactions to the death of Thatcher.

Remember: don't drink too much punch. The rats need their share.

I'll say!

Flag-Bearer

I'm going to do my traditional - and very original - review of the year tomorrow. I realise that's putting a lot of pressure on myself. What if I'm busy? What if I get struck by car-lightning? I might have to leave my review of 2012 until 2013.

But is that really so bad? So many end-of-year reviews totally fail to mention the events of the latter days of December. If I do mine in January, I'll have the whole picture, the whole tamale, the whole cottage cheese. I'm a completist, even if I'm not a completer.

What am I going to write about today, then? My propensity for using too many rhetorical questions? I've done five already.

No. No, no, no. Instead, I'm going to compile some tweets. I used to do it every couple of weeks. I haven't done it since early September.

But don't think you'll have to wade through fifty-five pages of glib. I don't tweet very much nowadays, so there might be hardly anything. I really can't remember that far back. So let's take this journey together. We may be sailing into the unknown, but at least we're together.

That's right! It's another edition of:

Odd Remark Mystery Cruise

***

Let's all start referring to bran flakes as "Branagh flakes". No, you first.

***

If you can think of a rhyme for this tweet, I'll buy you a pint.

***

POEM: I hurt my wrist / shaking my fist / at my other wrist

***

I'm talented.

***

Q: What's strange and green, and at the bottom of my water bottle? A: I'm on my way to hospital.

***

If you walk home carrying a length of rope, people become concerned. So I'll be carrying a WIDTH of rope. #nonethewiser

***

"Disproportionate" is one of the only words in the English language 

***

[Something about jazz apples and "pip improv"]

***

I was terrified by the cuckoo clock in my great aunt's house until I finally plucked up the courage to pretend I wasn't.

***

Tapping your watch is a good way to demonstrate your index finger.

***

I just took exception. Without exception, people are livid.

***

I just shook my head and said "Thursdays, eh?" to prove a point about day knowledge. 

***

I can't stop singing that Scottish Dr Doom folk song I made up. It's offensive to both Scots and Latverians, but sure is catchy.

***

Under NO circumstances should anyone EVER use the word "hypocrisy" in a tweet. 

***

I was studying for a PhD in amusing bells, but my fun ding funding was cut. #academia #tweets

***

It's difficult to perform mouth-to-mouth on a paper bag without people thinking you're hyperventilating. 

***

But I do it anyway. A life is at stake. BAGS HAVE FAMILIES.

***

"I need that like I need another HEAD IN MY HANDS!" #quips #offthecuff #zingers #snappy #comebacks #boom #hilarious

***

Just realised my flies were open all the way into work. Now I feel like a fool for telling so many people that they weren't.

***

They say twins have an almost telepathic bond, but I can't even remember where I put his keys.

***

If you bury a sesame seed in the garden, a hamburger tree will grow bored.

***

Film dialogue I'm working on: "I'm British. I'm really, really British. My home town has a pie named after it. I'm not playing games here." 

***

No films are allowed to contain a character called "Stéphane" because of an old Hollywood superstition.

***

A man plunged to his death yesterday, leading police to issue a safety warning on that particular model of cafetière.

***

I've become embroiled in an eyeb row. 

***

I just shouted "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?! ARE MY VEINS NOT SUCKED DRY?!", but it turned out they were talking to the other Paul.

***

I refuse to use the term "scissors", no matter what the PC brigade says. They're Siamese knives and they always have been.

***

When someone says "it's a long story", I've usually lost interest by the time they get to the apostrophe.

***

I'd like to dedicate this tweet to the brave men and women who died during its construction.

***

I want to drill a hole in my head, but I can't get past my "defence hairs".

***

I've spent most of today hoping that I wouldn't have to tell you this. 

***

"You scrotum, you bought 'em!" #thingstosay

***

Whenever I need to make a decision, I can never decide whether to say "decisions..." or "decisions, decisions...". #decisions

***

Decisions, decisions. Excuses, excuses. There, there. New York, New York. It's fun to say things twice. Or once each, if you're twins. 

***

I've never said "I'll be there in fifteen minutes". I'm always either closer or further away than that. 

***

Weird to think that there were children conceived during the velociraptor scene in Jurassic Park, who are now old enough to vote. 

***

I never use the expression "Get me [BLANK] on the phone!" because I hate him. 

***

Good work, everyone. We've all been trying to perfect that meta "my dog's got no nose" joke variant. I've finally made the breakthrough. 

***

I couldn't have done it without all your hard work. Those tweet hours spent exploring nose synonyms and surreal detours have borne fruit. 

***

They said we were wasting our time! "Redundant", they said! "Beating a dead horse/dog nose", they said! Well, we've proved them wrong.  

***

It was worth it. I'm sure you'll agree. Again, this isn't about me. It's about YOU. You were right to keep going. Here is the culmination.

***

"My dog's got a really energetic nose." "How does he smell?" "Terajoule."  

***

*sniff* You work for so long at something that... when it arrives... you don't know what to say. I don't regret a second of it. 

***

We can all stop working on this now. Maybe shift to... a satire of that "what's black and white and red all over" joke? Mileage there. 

***

Things keep breaking. It's difficult not to take it as a sign that I'm onto something. 

***

It's crass to laugh at your own insistence. 

***

You're either part of the solution or you're part of the problem. Or, if the problem is under-manned problems, you're part of both.  

***

It's our flat inspection today, so I spent all morning hiding cats and cigar butts. 

***

I also censored some of my murals. 

***

Every time you say "seeing is believing", a blind fairy drops down dead.  

***

I can't believe the name "Grisham" hasn't died out. No-one wants a surname that sounds like a resentful dog. 

***

Georgie Porgie's orgies ended not with a gangbang but a gangwhimper.  

***

In the next Batman reboot, I'd like him to be a terrible driver. 

***

I just taught my dog to say "substance abuse". 

***

Nice little US cake flags for the office Hurricane Sandy bake sale! Though spelling out "FUCK HAITI" in Rice Krispie squares was a bit harsh.

***

I'm forming a band called The Headlines. We'll be easy to market. Every time someone says "Think of the headlines!", people will. Free PR.  

***

Substituting two 'n's for the letter 'm' is nny new Twitter ginnnnick. I think it will earn nne lots of new followers. 

***

I just had a phone call so awkward that it jolted me into the menopause. 

***

I refuse to see any film that doesn't include the line: "Hey! What's with the get-up?" 

***

Are we safe? I think we're safe. It was a bumpy ride, and someone accidentally stole and wore all of our provisions. But I can see land.

There were some pretty good things in there! I even included a couple of jokes this time. I may be getting less prolific, but I'm not getting any less Mexican. I've abandoned quality and quantity. From now on, I will fly the holy flag of quastity.

Maybe the coast guard will see it billowing and send a rescue boat.

Cleans Haven

I've been so distracted with illness and celebrating the birth of our Lord and Saviour, that I've forgotten to update you on my latest shave.

I don't shave often, so it's always a special occasion. Some people choose to throw confetti.

Here's my previous attempt to document my de-hairening.

This time, I'll let pictures speak louder than words. These are in chronological order.

By the way, I'm not just doing this because I love making faces and looking at them. I don't. At all. I resent the accusation. But I need to track changes, and I don't have the equipment or the facial patience for time-lapse photography.

Here.

Take a journey.

 

Which is your favourite? Please indicate your preference somehow.

The winning candidate will be my new passport photo.

As you can see from the last one, I'm regrowing my beard. The cleans haven in a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there.

Enjoy your day.

Sleighn

It's Christmas.

Here's a quick summary of Lucy and Paul's jolly holiday so far:

1) We both started feeling ill on the evening of Dec 20th
2) Had to decide whether or not to get our train to Devon to stay with my family the following morning
3) Decided to get the train
4) Regretted number 3
5) Struggled on a busy train, and eventually made it to our destination
6) Spent an ill evening being generally pathetic, unentertaining and uncomfortable
7) Spent a hellish night of illness and leaking roof
8) Asked if we could go home the following day
9) Forced my poor mother to spend seven hours of her day driving us back to Oxford (which she did very graciously and cheerfully)
10) Continued to feel ill
11) Ate some soup
12) Began this list

Ho.

Ho.

Ho.

Well, the weather outside is frightful...

We're not too bad, really. It's much better to have a bit more room and to be in familiar surroundings. I hope we're not making too big a deal of this. But it hasn't been the most pleasant of Christmases.

I should point out that Lucy has dealt with it much better than me. She's been strong and brave. I've totally caved in. I'm sure I have some strengths that counterbalance this weakness, but none spring to mind. I'm quite good at singing songs about sweet 'n' sour chicken balls, I suppose... That makes up for it.

We struggled to the supermarket yesterday to stock our empty cupboards. We bought plenty of supplies which we one day hope to be able to eat.

No point in dwelling on this. I just thought it should be recorded for prosperity, so that 2013 Paul can look back on this and be grateful for any remaining functional limbs.

***

Everybody's talking about Christmas at the moment. It's all over the newspapers and the social networks. You can't swing a dead cat without someone sewing tinsel into its tail and offering you a Ferrero Rocher.

It's getting a bit much. You can only read so many people's hilarious snowman jokes before you're compelled to desecrate the grave of Raymond Briggs. (His being alive is another sprout in that particular stuffing ball).

So to mix things up, here are eight hilarious jokes about other holidays. These can go in your Easter crackers for next year, or even your Ash Wednesday Humour Log.

***

4th of July/Bonfire Night/Bastille Day:

Q: What did one firework say to the other firework?
A: "I've hidden my fuse! They'll never find it! Shhhhhh!"


Q: What do you call a firework with a French accent?
A: Marie the Firework.

--

Easter:

Two eggs walk into a prosthetic leg rental outlet.
"Same again next weekend?" asks the proprietor, grinning.
"You bet!" says the eggs.
They roll out, giggling.


Q: What happened when the Easter Bunny had a mental breakdown?
A: He was HOPPING MAD and sadly took his own life!

--

St Rhinoceros's Day:

Q: What do you call a man with a horn on his head, and kindness in his heart?
A: St Rhinoceros.

--

Thanksgiving:

Q: What kind of PIE does a bicycle PUMP serve to his family (or KIN) at Thanksgiving?
A: Bicycle pumps don't eat pies.

--

Summer Solstice:

Q: What do druids have for afternoon tea at the summer solstice?
A: Scone Henge.

or (if you pronounce "scone" the other - correct - way):

Q: What do druids have for afternoon tea at the summer solstice?
A: Some scones at Stone Henge, or a big handful of earth or something. Stupid druids...

That counts as the same joke. So you're owed one more.

--

Pentecost:

Q: How much does pente cost?
A: Don't be flippant.

***

That took much longer than you might imagine.

I'd better get back to the merriment. I've been wearing my paper hat since last year.

Ho.

Reflections

The photo of my face in the below post is too big. I'll have to write something here to force it down the page.

I could just go into that post and edit it, but once I've published a post, it no longer belongs to me. It belongs to the world. Once your child leaves the nest, you can't start criticising its vulgar wing-strokes.

Writing a blog is like working at a lighthouse. I'm shining a light into the darkness. If that light happens to blind a cyclist, forcing her into a ravine, it's none of my concern. I'm strictly bulb-maintenance.

That face photo must be slightly lower now. But I need to keep typing to force it completely off the page.

I suppose I could just force it down with a different large picture. 

There.

My face is still visible, but it's mainly hand.

That's much better. When people first meet you, they prefer to be greeted by a hand, rather than a face. That's why you always introduce yourself by displaying fingers.

That is my right hand, I think. It looks like my left hand in the picture, but that's some kind of mirror lie. My left hand is currently painted green. That's how I know.

If you stare at a picture of your own hand for long enough, you start to become concerned about your knuckles. That's something I've learned over the past eight hours.

I really am obsessed with myself. I suppose it's vanity, but I'm not really admiring myself. I'm just fixated. Does vanity imply approval?

It might just be making up for lost time, because as a child I was never allowed mirrors.

My parents refused to allow any reflective surfaces in the house. They were from a different era. They saw mirrors as newfangled brain-rotters. As far as they were concerned, reflections dulled the imagination. And who am I to say they were wrong?

They called the mirror the "idiot window". They wanted us to read books. "Anyone who feels the need to gaze at their own reflection needs to take a long, hard look at themselves," said my dad. He was a wise man.

It had its disadvantages. Of course it did. It's difficult to stick to your anti-mirror principles in the modern world.

I'd feel left out at school. Each morning, when the other kids gathered to discuss the exciting reflections they'd seen the previous evening, I stood apart; a sheepish pariah. There was a cultural disconnect that pervaded my teenage years. I had friends, but they always seemed to view me as an outsider. They knew that I didn't have access to the same influences as they did. Sometimes they'd make a joke about inverted images of themselves, and I had to pretend I knew what they were talking about.

I had never seen my tongue. They knew I hadn't. It was trying.

I tried to make up for my lack of mirror viewing by watching lots of television. But if a mirror ever appeared on the screen, my father would switch over. I've never seen the whole of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.

I resented it at the time, but looking back, I can't help but admire my parents' principles. They were resolute. They even had to quit their jobs because they were spending so much time dulling spoons and throwing pebbles to disrupt the surface of water.

When I finally left home and went to university, I suddenly had access to a plethora of mirrors. I overindulged. After a reflection-binge that involved a mirror ball, a periscope and a copy of Enter the Dragon, I was encouraged to get help by my friends.

It worked, and now I can use mirrors to an appropriate degree.

But I'm still fascinated by my own face. That's why I include all of the pictures on this blog. I'm still making up for lost time, I suppose. I still think about the twelve-year-old me, with no access to mirror, and no way of knowing how much spinach I had in my teeth.

I'll never miss and tooth-spinach, or face stains, or bleeding eyes. Not now. I can just head on over to http://headscissors.blogspot.co.uk/ and make sure my face - and indeed my hand - is as clean and clear as a crystal pond: unpebbled, untarnished, reciprocal, inverted joy.

Look at me now!

I will.

My parents, incidentally, changed their tune a few years after I left. They adopted twin boys: one was a vampire, the other was not. They needed mirrors to check which was which.

They got used to a house of reflections. They joined the twenty-first century in the end. And their make-up is more symmetrical than ever.

XXX Candles

I'm much thirtier than I was yesterday.

Yesterday, I listened to aggressive experimental dubcorepunkhop music. Today, I listen to a mid-tempo guitar ballad from an MFI ad.

Yesterday, I snorted a line of ketamine off a skateboard. Today, I collapsed halfway through a ploughman's.

Yesterday, I listened to Radio 1Xtra. Today, I write to complain about the station's lack of 'e'.

Yesterday, I wore skinny jeans and an ironic T-shirt. Today, I wear chinos and the same T-shirt in earnest.

Yesterday, Michael Gove. Today, Michael Give. 

Yesterday, I tattooed a Frank Ocean gif Tumblr URL onto a holographic coin. Today, I scratch my neck and agree with a racist.

Yesterday, I resented the police. Today, I carve my mashed potato into the shape of a truncheon.

Things are different now.

This is what it's like.

This is what it's like.

This is what it's like.

(It's my birthday. I'm not sure if that was clear.)

***

Seriously though, things are super!

I love this time of year. I love this time of day. I love this time of blog.

("The sarcastic time?")

That's the one!

Seriously though, things are serious.

***

Is this really the end of the blog post? I couldn't think of anything else to write?

Maybe I should end on a joke.

What do you call a reindeer with an STD?

Blitzen.

It's seasonal - that's what I like about it. If it doesn't seem to make any sense, then... well... You obviously don't know Blitzen.

Happy Hanukkah, everybody.

Capsules

I found this photograph between the pages of an old black and white 70s Marvel UK reprint comic. I was pleased by this, because I like an excuse to use lots of adjectives.

It's always fun to find something personal in a second hand item. It's usually a boring dedication/finger in a book, but sometimes it's something more impressive, like an autographed ring.

This photograph is interesting. Let's take a closer look.

I don't have a scanner, so this is a photo of a photo. The real thing is much clearer and crisper. On the real thing, you can clearly see the sneer. The sneer is the most noticeable thing about it. People don't sneer like that nowadays. This is a vintage sneer.

Who is this person?

Do you know him? Is he you?

He's wearing white trousers and a white shirt/blouse thing. Is he a cricketer? A morris dancer? But what about the black jacket? And what's he holding? A scarf? A long truncheon?

Why is his hair like that? Did everyone have hair like that back then?

When was back then? The fashion doesn't really help us identify the era. Was it taken around the same time as the comic was released? Or was it taken later, and placed inside the comic for safe-keeping?

Was it a bookmark?

What's that wall in the background? Some kind of wall?

Is this Neil Gaiman? It looks a bit like Neil Gaiman. Could it be Neil Gaiman?

Is this man still alive? Is he old? Or was this only taken a few years ago?

Is it me? Did I take a photo of myself and look different? Did I hide it, knowing that I'd find it in the future?

Have I had some kind of memory-removal/plastic-surgery foisted upon me? Is this a clue to discovering who I really am?

Am I asking too many questions?

Yes, I am?

Great?

Yeah.

***

I'm not looking forward to the next month or so. This period will begin with a birthday, and end with a house-move. In between will be Christmas. I don't really want any of these things.

I'm looking forward to having moved. I'm looking forward to living in a new place. But I'm not looking forward to all of the moving and signing forms and boxing and organising and forgetting and worrying. I have been dreaming about it.

I really am incapable of dealing with even the most minor events which constitute life.

I can't even deal with that fact, so I'm going to change the subject.

Peas!

I didn't use to like them, but now I do. Delicious green spheres. And mushy peas? I'm a convert! I never had them, then I had them, and now I CAN'T STOP HAVING THEM!

Good old peas!

Good old life!

***

I've been unwell. Because I've been coughing a lot during the night, I've been sleeping on the sofa. I don't like to disturb Lucy, so I selflessly leave her to sleep in peace. I really am the most considerate man alive.

To be fair, she's also ill, and is ill because she caught my cold. Also, I've been generally useless and whiny, and keep hiding her Lemsip. Also, I keep leaving guns in her socks as a funny joke. So, all-in-all, I'm not the best of cohabitees. But still: the sofa. That's got to count for something, right?

The sofa is quite comfortable, but I kept waking up due to thoughts and germs dancing a tango in my brain. In the middle of one of these deliria, I "wrote" a "poem".

I even noted it down on my phone, in case I forgot it come daybreak.

I didn't forget it. I remembered it and tweeted it, but had no response. I don't want to waste valuable things-I-have-thought, so here it is:

Heather gazed thither

so I tethered her hither

I can't live without her

and I can't not live with 'er

It's a poem about possessive love. And words that sound similar.

I'm prolific.

It reminds me that I haven't done a tweet compendium for ages. How long? Since before September 11 (this year)!

I have been fairly inactive in that time tweetwise, but there's probably some Marmite to be scraped from the bottom of the jar.

That can be something to look forward to.

Let's look forward to it.

Shh.

Shh-shh-shh!

In silence.

Let's all just be quiet and look forward to it.

There.

***

Here's a song I heard today. I think I like it:



I've allocated the next hour and a half for fear. But there will be no inquest if I overrun.

Hard to Swallow

Saturday night's comedy gig was reviewed on the Londonist website. I'm becoming Mr Review on here lately - sharing kind things that people have said as soon as they appear. I suppose I find it edifying to share these with you, as you've always known how amazing I am, and will be pleased to see it confirmed in ink. Cyber-ink.

I also find it edifying to use the word 'edifying'.

In this most recent review, I get what is a generally positive one-sentence review. I'd now like to spend several thousand words analysing it in detail.

The sentence starts off promisingly:

"Paul Fung had a beard and was gruffly brilliant..."

That's very nice. I'm not sure why the beard is relevant, but it's nice to know they have the right man. I'm always happy to be called 'brilliant', though I've never thought of myself as particularly gruff. Maybe it's because I had a sore throat.

If that was the whole review, I wouldn't have thought much more about it. But the sentence finished with this thought:

"...like if Rufus Hound had swallowed Jack Dee."

Now...

This comparison isn't something I have a problem with. The phrasing on the other hand, is a real curate's egg. I've been thinking about it since I first read it, and have given it a lot of thought. So much thought, that I've forgotten to bathe, sleep, or be annoyed by the government.

The first thing to say is that I don't take issue with either of the two comedians mentioned. I don't have strong opinions on either. I've never really seen any Rufus Hound stand-up. I've mostly seen him on panel shows and the like, and he seems pretty funny. I don't know how similar our styles are, or if the commonality is just one of facial hair. Jack Dee is obviously a well-established name in comedy. Perhaps some of my deadpan deliveries are similar to his.

I don't know. It's difficult to judge my own style of comedy. The combination of these two might accurately sum me up.

If the sentence had been "...like a combination of Rufus Hound and Jack Dee", I would have found it interesting, but unremarkable.

But the whole 'swallowed' thing: that's the sticking point.

Journalists need to think of creative ways of making comparisons. That's the main part of their job. No-one wants to read an non-literary analogy. It would be a waste of time.

So the journalist will use clever tropes and phrases to create a vivid picture. When they want to say that someone is a cross between two other people, there are different avenues they can take.

The bare-bones, basic version is "[BLANK1] is like [BLANK2] meets [BLANK3]". For example, "Tim Minchin is like Russell Brand meets Bill Bailey". This gets the point across, but is a bit clumsy, and lacks flair.

There is of course the famous "[BLANK1] is like [BLANK2] on drugs" comparison, which is always insightful.

When I was growing up, the most common variant was "[BLANK1] is like the lovechild of [BLANK2] and [BLANK3]".

I don't know if that is out of fashion now. The word "lovechild" seems very 1990s. I don't even know what it means. Does it imply something illicit? Surely you could just use "child" and it would mean the same thing. But at least it conjures up the idea that one person has characteristics that combine those of two other people. It's genetics - writers love to sneak in a bonus science lesson.

But the writer of my review has gone for the much more creative, and much less orthodox variant: "...like if [BLANK1] had swallowed [BLANK2]".

This conjures up an undeniably strong visual image. And it's not the most flattering one.

As I said, it's not Hound and Dee that's the issue. That comparison is an undesirable one, regardless of the people involved. A person who has consumed another person is not something you want to look like.

Even if the people involved were really flattering. Even if I'd been described as "...like if Usain Bolt had swallowed Mozart", I'd still be a bit nonplussed.

I'd rather not be compared to a cumulative two people. Maybe if the people were really thin, it wouldn't be so bad. If I was described as being "...like if Karen Carpenter had swallowed Gandhi", that would have been better. That combination might make for a tolerable double-person. It also would have piqued the curiosity of any reader, and might have drawn a crowd to my next gig. I would have tailored my act to fit the description, walking the fine line between tragic and racist, inciting a riot and then refusing to fight back.

The thing is, neither Rufus Hound or Jack Dee are particularly thin. I'd say they're both reasonably large. For one to swallow the other, would result in quite the monstrosity. I mean, I would have appreciated it if the reviewer had stipulated that it was Jack Dee circa 1991. That would have been something.

(I'd like make it clear that I'm not debating the accuracy of the comparison. It is accurate. But just because something's accurate, it doesn't mean you can't complain about it.)

Maybe I'm viewing it the wrong way. Maybe the comparison is even more literary than I'd given it credit for. It might be a creative analogy of my comedy style. Perhaps I have a Jack Dee-like cynicism that has been "swallowed" by the more cheerful approach of Rufus Hound. On aspect of my comedy style has been subsumed within another. Maybe that's what they meant! It was very clever, very apposite, and very flattering.

Maybe that's it.

Maybe that's it.

"...like if Rufus Hound had swallowed Jack Dee."

Maybe that's it.

Or maybe I just looked ill. I'd probably be ill if I tried to swallow Jack Dee. He wouldn't be too happy either.

Despite the many paragraphs I've spent complaining about this, I'm very pleased with the review. I just want people to think I'm funny, that's all. It's not a beauty contest.

(Incidentally, my appearance in a recent beauty contest was also reviewed. I was described as "...like the lovechild of Gloria Gaynor and a snowman, that's swallowed some magic mushrooms". It was me who described me like that, and I was only partially correct. Still, third place is nothing to sneeze at.)

I'm very grateful for the review. In fact, my tempering something complimentary with something self-deprecating may make this one of those #humblebrag situations. That's when you disguise self-congratulation behind a thin, unconvincing layer of modesty.

But my ratio of self-loathing to arrogance must be, like, 30-1 in this blog post. That's like the homoeopathic version of a humblebrag. The particles of smug are so diluted that they have no bearing on the final product.

For my next gig, I'm going to shave off my beard and change my style completely.

Then we'll see who eats whom.

***

Maybe I am gruff...

Traits

I've noticed that I have a new annoying trait. They come thick and fast at this age. I should log them somewhere. But then logging traits will become a new annoying trait, and I'll be trapped in a loop. (The loop trap will become an annoying trait, the constant looping will be a loop - soon, I'll have my own chain-mail suit of annoying loops, which will irritate everyone).

The trait is this:

When I'm stating my opinion on something, or am trying to be reasonable, I prefix my statement with "I mean...".

Here are some examples.

Someone might say: "So you don't like glam-rock music?"

I would say: "I mean... I wouldn't say that I hate all of it, but it's not really my cup of tea..."

Or someone might say: "Is it immoral to join the army?"

And I would say: "I mean... generally speaking, agreeing to kill people is immoral, but I understand that people have been taught that protecting your country is the right thing to do..."

I do it all the time. It's a signal that I'm about to be even-handed about something and it drives me crazy.

"I mean..." is meaningless. I should mean everything I say. Even something like "I suppose..." would perform the same function, but would make more sense.

I mean, it's not like it's the worst thing in the world?

Hahaha. I did it there.

But that's reminded me of the even-more-annoying element. It's the old Australian interrogative inflection at the end. I've bookended my comment with two of the most annoying bookends imaginable (not counting two plaster Piers Morgans).

I must do it because it sounds uncertain. And uncertainty is a way to suggest that you're open-minded. I'm British - I don't want to state my opinions too forcefully. By couching my language in these buffers (is that a mixed metaphor?) I make myself immune to counterarguments. I can just claim that I was putting forth a theory, or "thinking out loud".

It's a trait borne of a desire to please, but it ends up pleasing no-one and riling everyone. It's a world-weary diplomacy.

I don't know how to avoid doing it. I think it will probably just go away in time. Ages ago, I noticed an annoying conversational trait, and I think that one has subsided.

It's probably just a phase. It's like a contagious disease: you have it once, and then become immune.

...

I don't understand diseases.

***

I'm sure you're heartbroken about this, but I've had to disable anonymous comments on this blog.

I started getting too many spam blog comments, and it was driving me crazy.

Though this one seemed to sum me up pretty well:

What a information of un-ambiguity and preserveness of valuable knowledge concerning unexpected feelings.

The worry is that disabling anonymous comments will put some readers off commenting. But given that the number of genuine comments I receive is usually about four each year, I doubt that it's much of a loss.

If you want to leave a comment, you'll have to have a name. This will be helpful, because you'll need to be identified. Anything that rare needs to be caught and studied. Like Bigfoot.

***

I have a cold. I feel like I'm underwater. This mouthful of krill isn't helping matters.

The corporeal world seems a million miles away. Occasionally, I hear voices, like echoes from a memory, and all I can do is snuffle in response.

I mean... I suppose having a cold isn't a huge hardship? But I'd still rather be asleep on a futon of swords.

I think I've just noticed another annoying trait. It's my tendency to write things like everything I've written in this post. It's quite the trait.

Where does a man end and his traits begin? Is man simply the sum of his traits, or is there other stuff in there too (veins, largesse, etc)?

Do animals have traits?

I thought that was a profound question, but then I realised that the answer is obviously "yes". I'll Google it, just to make sure.

http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20110423020606AADHxXu

Yes. Every sane person agrees. And the people in that link.

Do animals have traits and personalities? 

I firmly believe that yes but some seem to disagree. 

I'd like to know who disagrees. I'd fight them. I'd punch them on the nose.

Look, I've Googled "trait definition"

trait/trāt/

Noun:

A distinguishing quality or characteristic, typically one belonging to a person. A genetically determined characteristic.

Typically belonging to a person, but not always. Rocks have traits, probably. Gates have traits.

I admire Kendall C's answer to the initial question in the above web page:

YESSSSS

Source(s):

My dog is spool crazy lol I try to give him a kiss and he backs away from me lol

Remember, that last bit it listed as his (or her) "source".

I remember going "spool crazy" once. I was thrown out of my textiles lesson for sewing myself to a whiteboard.

I don't know Kendall C's dog, but I respect Kendall C's dog.

I would also back away from her (or him) if she tried to kiss me. That's not spool crazy. That's spool prudent. Especially for a dog.

In conclusion: traits.

***

I thought that was the conclusion. But now I seem to be looking at some of Kendall C's answers to other Yahoo questions. This may destroy my entire afternoon.

In answer to the question 'If you could swim in any liquid, NOT water, what would it be?', Kendall C has answered:

Snaple

Mmm! Delicious Snaple! Everyone likes Snaple. There's nothing more refreshing than the juice of a curmudgeonly potions master.

This one needs to be shown in full, because it gives us a lot of information about both Kendall C and the questioner:

Kendall C is correct. If your door is a baby, you should always call the police. Better safe than sorry.

The asker has rated that a four star answer. I think that's about right.

***

I need to stop this now. Good bye.

Hydrology

December. The Year of the Bag.

I don't know what that means, but it's how my brain decided to open this post. My brain can be a trial sometimes. But when he's happy and behaving himself, when he's busy with his crayons or gamma-Aminobutyric acids, you just look at his little brain-face smile, and it makes it all worth it.

It's strange to have finished NaNoWriMo. I feel as though a huge weight has been lifted off me. There are several other huge weights, waiting (weighting) to take its place, but that's for Tomorrow Me to think about. For now, I am relieved at no longer having any kind of word-count pressure. I could end this blog post right now, and no-one would be able to say anything against me.

But I won't end it now. There's too much to tell you about.

I went to London for a stand-up gig on Saturday. We took the Oxford Tube coach, and were stuck in traffic for a long time. Luckily, Lucy and I are always about three hours early for every event, so it didn't cause to much rambunction.

What? 'Rambunction' isn't a word, Mr Spellcheck? I think you'll find that it is. I don't even need to make sure I'm correct. I am correct.

The gig was at a very nice pub in Clerkenwell. We had food beforehand. I had a brie and caramelised onion sandwich for some reason. I don't know why I mention it here. I suppose I thought it might lead me into an interesting diversion. Perhaps the diversion would be a hilarious sideways look at the process of caramelisation. I might wonder when it was invented. I might imagine caramelising various unlikely things, like Gargamel or camels or caramel. It would be hilarious.

Likewise, brie might have led me to a discussion of the actress Alison Brie. Perhaps she could star in a film called Brie Encounter, where Alison Brie (played by herself) gets some cheese in her eye at a train station and then falls in love with a giant bit of brie, but is married (to some kind of chutney), and it ends with her cutting off her nose to spite her brie. Which is frowned upon.

But I didn't think of any of those things. The sandwich I ate didn't lead me down any of those avenues. It was a damp squib. A lightly toasted damp squib. With rocket.

The gig was in a nice back room with a stage. The night was run by The Awkward Silence, who also run the Oxford nights I've been performing at. There was a good crowd and all of the acts did well.

I was doing the same stuff as I did in Oxford last time. It's been a while since I've repeated material, and it's always a surprise to see the differences in reactions when performing in front of a new crowd. Most of it went pretty well, though both of my main bits petered out a little. I had to work a little bit harder than usual, which was actually quite fun. I did some ad libs that were enjoyable, especially when dealing with an audible exclamation of disgust after one of my jokes.

I was probably a bit complacent and had a bit of rust when going off-track (I've been spoiled by the generosity of Oxford audiences). But I had a good time, and was pleased with my response. By which I mean their response to me. Not my response. My response was the same as it always is: shuffling, embarrassed awkwardness and an imperceptible nod.

On the way home, I was thirsty. I have a bit of a cold, so my throat was (and is) sore and dry. But we only had about a third of a bottle of water left. I was forced to ration it. I appreciated every occasional mouthful. It made me realise how lucky we are to live with abundant water. We take it for granted. We glug it down like it's going out of fashion (it's not - water is always stylish).

When water supplies are low, you realise what a blessing it is. I now know exactly what it must be like to go through a horrendous drought in the Third World. Sitting there, on the comfortable bus, eating a duck wrap, I was a little bit thirsty. It was hell.

I don't understand why anyone still lives in the desert. Sort it out. There's too much water in the UK. Come over! You'll be welcomed with open arms. If there's one thing that the British are renowned for, it's our universal acceptance of immigrants.

Come and drink from our wells! You don't need camels here (caramelised or otherwise).

Hey! Water! That reminds me of something else. I didn't plan it - it was just a happy accident.

There was some flooding recently. You might have seen an item about it on the moisture news. There was all kinds of wettening in Oxford. The meadow at the back of our building was completely submerged. And I, with my terrible phone camera, was there to document it.

Here is our car park:

That brown stuff is water. There's usually a lot of grass back there. The bridge is just about above the water line. But it is no longer a bridge. It is a wooden island. Poohsticks is unworkable.

Luckily, we live on the second floor and don't have a car, so we can laugh at our hapless neighbours, and throw things at them. We can mock them by bulk ordering snorkels and having them delivered by barge.

That photo isn't great. But if you take a picture at sunrise, you don't need to worry about equipment or skill. Nature makes it look good. God is the original Photoshop:

You see? That could be on the cover of some kind of lamppost magazine. It's a bit grainy, but I blame that on the grains. Stupid grains.

So, this is what December feels like. I think we're going to be fine. Let's just ride it out. Together.

NaNoFiniTo

I finished my NaNoWriMo "novel" yesterday.

I'm sure that will come as a great relief to all of you. I've basically spent this whole month telling you about a cake that you'll never be able to eat. I've explained my hardships with kneading, my struggles with creaming, my worries about whether I'll burn the base.

Nobody cares. You're all still hungry.

But still, it's something to be proud of. And ashamed of. More proud than ashamed.

The final word count was 51,337. It had an ending and everything. And an epilogue.

Expect it to be in the shops this time next week. They won't be selling it; I'll just be leaving memory sticks around. Each one will have a different chapter. Try to collect them all!

You can download banners that proclaim you a NaNoWriMo "winner". I wouldn't feel comfortable with displaying one of those. I am the opposite of a winner. I already have a "loser" banner. It is my face.

This has been downbeat so far. I'm actually very pleased to have finished.

Next month, I'll be able to get back to the classic Headscissors formula of talking to you as though you exist, and then making myself laugh with a reference to Lloyd Dyer.

AAAha. Lloyd Dyer. Brilliant.

NaNoAttentionSpaNo

"Confident and cool, he's the type of comic you want to befriend, whilst simultaneously making you hate yourself"

That comes from the second review of my recent stand-up show, which was very nice. I like the above quote, because I've never thought of myself as confident. And I've certainly never been accused of being cool, either in attitude or temperature.

I've already posted a link to the review on Facebook, which made me feel a bit boastful. But I can post it here, because my blog readers and I are like a secret club. A club of one. We can share anything here, and not have to worry about how self-absorbed we sound. Because we are our self. Where else could we be absorbed?

I'm still writing. 42,198 words. My story has got a bit silly, but that was bound to happen.

I'm feeling in a good mood. I think my moods are almost entirely dependent on Saints doing well at football. I don't like the idea that my mental well-being is so precariously balanced. I should probably become a drug addict. They have zero problems.

My iPod has broken. The sound comes consistently out of the left earholephone, but only sporadically out of the right one. I could get it repaired, but I feel that I might as well get a whole new one, even though it will cost me much more money.

I've had my current iPod since 2006. That was before this blog even began. Before Blog. BB. What a time that was. I hadn't even dreamed of italicising certain words and posting images of novelty lamps.

But we're in the future now. After Blog. AB. Anno Blogini.

I have another stand-up gig in London on Saturday. I'm going to do lots of London-centric material. It will be all whelks and Marble Arch.

I'm not concentrating. It's probably because I've had to focus on my NaNo story for so long. My imagination is used to bouncing around like a rubber doorman. It has been shackled for too long.

This is where I come to let it off its leash and go and fetch a stick, but by the time it gets there, it's Lorne Michaels, the creator of Saturday Night Live.

***

I just got so distracted that I forgot I was even writing this.

NaNoWriMo is nearly over. Thank heavens for that. December will be a Golden Age-Month.

NaNoPerNod

I will shortly have checked in.

And... there.

I am now checked.

I don't think I've mentioned it, but I now have a synopsis and extract of my NaNovel up on the internet-machine. You can find it here. I'm particularly proud of my synopsis, which tells you all you need to know.

I'm currently at 37,614 words. I would describe my work so far as "incoherent". I'm still just about on track, but I'm not counting my chickens (even though I am counting my words).

I'm far too busy. I'm worrying about Christmas shopping and a hundred other things. I long for the days when I was free of all worries and responsibility. Those days are fictional, but you can long for fictional things. It's allowed. I long for Long John Silver, and he's fictional.

Is he?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Long_John_Silver
  
"Long John Silver is a fictional character and the primary ant"

Yes. He is. (I might have ended that quote prematurely, but I might not have, for all you know.)

I haven't really got anything to talk about other than concerns, so here's a hilarious sketch I've just about to have written:

Doctor: Come in.

Patient: Hello, doctor.

Doctor: What seems to be the problem?

Patient: It's my wife, doctor.

Doctor: Oh yes?

Patient: Yes. She seems to have broken her leg.

Doctor: Oh. Well, why isn't she here?

Patient: She's afraid of doctors.

Doctor: Oh dear. Why do you think that is?

Patient: Because you broke her leg.

Doctor: Your wife is a LIAR. A one-legged LIAR.

Ernie Els: Anyone for a quick nine?

Doctor: Who's asking?

Ernie Els: ERNIE ELS.

Patient: ERNIE ELS.

Receptionist: ERNIE ELS.

Waiting Room (chorus): ERNIE ELS.

Everyone in England: ERNIE ELS.

Every Human: ERNIE ELS.



GOD: Ernie. Ernie Els. Ernie bloody Els.

***

Let's all knock off early and go get cocktails. My treat!

Yum.

I like cocktails.

NaNoMicrophoNo

I'm all hopped up on Earl Grey tea, so let's put some words down.

I'm slightly behind schedule with the old NaNoWriming, but there will probably be time for that later. That's the clarion call of the failed writer, but I have confidence in myself to get back on the writing horse and... I don't know... do a whole chapter about stirrups or something.

Have I used "clarion call" correctly? Let's see.

Ah, a clarion is a kind of bugle or trumpet. That makes sense. It's probably connected to "clarinet", and also to Clarissa Explains It All.

It probably is.

Good old Earl Grey. It has never made me not make sense once.

I had a stand-up gig last night. It was another good one.

There's a review of the night here. I'm pleased with what they said about me, but I am slightly annoyed that they misquoted me. I would never use the word "hipster" as an adjective.

It was all new stuff, though a big chunk came from a previous blog post. You see? You guys get the inside track. You will always know about these things first. It's like being inside the head of a great artist. Or within a five mile radius of Quentin Tarantino.

There was quite a bit of improvised stuff in my set, including having to deal with a broken tripod (which I referred to as a "monopod" to little reaction).

The main thing that stuck with me was my interaction with a girl in the front row. "Girl" might be a bit patronising, but she was so young and innocent looking that it made my eventual abuse of her all the worse. Her phone went off early on, and I did some not-particularly-hilarious bit of mock outrage that I was worried she took seriously. I don't like to pick on people in the audience, because I hate being picked on myself.

She was in the front row. Nobody wants to be in the front row. For all I know, she was reluctant to sit there on the grounds that she might get singled out. "Don't worry! No-one will talk to you!" her friend might have said. Her friend should be ashamed for being so hypothetically wrong.

A while after the phone thing, she reacted to something I said in an interesting way. I talked to her again, concluding that, coupled with the phone call, she must be an "attention-whore".

It was meant in a gentle way, but there's something about the word "whore". People don't tend to like it. She and her friends reacted in a really outraged, sitcom way. I felt terrible immediately.

I tried to dig myself out of it with an improvised bit that I found quite funny, even if the audience didn't. I'm paranoid about being thought of as a misogynist, so was insistent that there was a hyphen in 'attention-whore', rendering it politically correct. "That hyphen makes me not a sexist," I said. I was pleased with that, because it was strange logic expressed in a strange syntax.

If it was anyone else, it would have been fine. But she looked so sweet and nervous that I felt like I'd punched Bambi in the face.

I'm sure this is all incredibly patronising, and that she was absolutely fine about it. But I like to chastise myself about meaningless things. By doing it, I make myself seem sensitive and considerate, without having to take any action to remedy my behaviour.

I also sang a made-up segue song that didn't really work.

All in all, a nice evening with a nice crowd. I didn't even have any awkward conversations with strangers.

I should really get back on the novel horse. My story has reached an exciting stage, where an anthropomorphised cliff is having to explain to his father why he won't join the army. I think the next chapter will be about that not happening.