NaNoPicNiCo

I saw a woman in a bear costume in work just now. She was walking from reception towards the canteen.

I could tell she was a woman because she wasn't wearing the head at first. It was a woman's head on top of a bear body. To be honest, I didn't even notice the bear body. I only put the whole bear together when the head went on.

She was talking to a couple of people. None of them were talking about the fact that she was a bear. Maybe they hadn't noticed either.

I went to the toilet, and when I got out, the bear was gone. I don't know where she went.

Why was there a bear in the office? Is it Children In Need?

I didn't get a look at the front of the bear, so I couldn't tell if it was Pudsey. I would have needed to see her from the front. Some people might be able to recognise Pudsey from behind, but they probably wouldn't admit it.

I did a tweet about Pudsey once. In fact, it's a two-parter.

Pudsey Bear's whereabouts are on a Children in Need-to-know basis.

If I die before I finish this tweet - and I easily could - that Pudsey thing could be my goodbye. Tragic. I should have said 'bearabouts'.

I'd like to dress as a bear. It would be comfortable. You could probably just lie down and go to sleep anywhere, even on some stone steps or a thorn-bush. I'd love to be able to just drop and sleep. It would be my super power.

My NaNoWriMo writing isn't going well. If I continue writing at my current rate, I won't finish until March 2014. That's five months. It's no good. It's supposed to be NaNoWriMo, not NaNoWriFiMo.

But it's not about the word count. Not this year. It's just about writing. Slow and steady wins the Man Booker Prize for Tortoise Fiction.

***

I bet, somewhere in the world, there's a stripper called Crystal Maze.

***

It's quiet in the office today. I did hear what sounded like mauling just now, but that was probably the radiators.

I think a group of people in my office were watching the new Christmas adverts online. I could only hear a bit of the audio. I can't believe it's that time of year again: me not being invited to something.

I'm not going to watch the new Christmas adverts online. I want see them on television, muted, whilst I listen to an answerphone message from somebody else's lawyer, just as they were intended.

I assume there's going to be one with a winsome cover of popular song, one with Ant and Dec driving a hovercraft, and one that tries to subvert the whole thing by raping a snowman.

***

Interesting. After writing about rape jokes ages ago, I haven't done any. I haven't even felt the need to. I'm proud of myself.

But I thought of that snowman one, and then couldn't think of a good alternative. The word "snowman" seemed to be a funny one to finish the list. So I needed a verb. And I think it needed to be a harsh verb. "Killing a snowman" isn't funny. "Stabbing a snowman" would have no effect.

I just think that they rhythm of the joke, and the concept of subverting Christmas advert conventions, demanded the use of that word.

I might be wrong. I'm willing to admit that. I just want you to know that whilst I did write a "rape joke", I thought about it carefully, and feel that it is artistically justified.

***

Here are some bonus bear tweets that aren't just here to pad out this entry:

Stroking your beard makes you look thoughtful. Stroking your bear makes you look less thoughtful. And don't try stroking Bea.

I tried to follow my own advice, but it lead me up an alley and now I'm in some sort of bear trap.

Sometimes it's just not scarf-weather, Rupert. I mean, you're a bear. You have FUR. Maybe it's a circulation problem?

It would be terrible if you were going on a hot air balloon trip, and got mauled by Yogi Bear as soon as you got in the basket. Terrible.

It takes a lot of courage to admit you're wrong, especially if you're trapped on a falling bear.

You know when it feels like your head is full of cotton wool? You're probably a stuffed animal of some kind (eg bear).

"Should I start locking my Canadian golf supplies shop?" "Does a bear shit in the woods?" "Um..." #conversationsthatmighthappen

I'd never eat a bear's porridge. Think of all the hairs! Goldilocks was a madman.

Beware of Greeks gifting bears.

It's the saddest thing. My friend, the cardiophobic bear, went to a counsellor and pawed his heart out.

I'd love to attend a Teddy Bears' picnic, but they always give such short notice.

What kind of bear parents name their son Bungle? I mean, with that name he's only ever going to be a total disaster.

The thing I like best about Valentine's Day is that I get to wear my giant pink fluffy bear costume without anyone looking at me askance.

I really wish I could hibernate. I could, physically. It's just social convention that stops me. Bears get all the breaks.

The Care Bears really dropped off the face of the earth, didn't they?

Looking back, I'm sure even Disney would admit it that was a mistake to reinvent 'The Gummi Bears' as 'The False Teeth Bears' for Season 7.

"Someone's been sleeping in my bed! Good! That is its purpose!" #practicalbears

Teddy bears don't go round and round MY garden.

Remember that horrible episode of Yogi Bear where he finds Boo Boo's corpse in a pic-a-nic basket? Terrifying. I think it inspired Se7en.

"Put your hands in the bear like you just don't care... about the bear's welfare!" - Me, in that sort of club.

People think I'm a bear for 3 reasons: 1) I had porridge this morning, 2) I look like a bear, 3) I keep forgetting to lock my front door.

The play's the thing - Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king. Or maybe a kind of modified bear trap.. No. No, I'll go with the play.

I've got a cold nose which, according to the vet, means I'm a healthy polar bear. My cubs will be relieved.

Never make eye contact with a self-conscious bear.

I covered my bathroom walls in bearskin and now I'm infertile. INFERTILE. IN FUR TILE. TILES LIKE A BATHROOM TILE. AND FUR. #goodjokes


***

Huh.

Twenty-five.

Twenty-five tweets about bears.

Do most people have that many? That's not even including the Pudsey ones, or the ones that didn't make any sense.

Twenty-five bear tweets.

My ancestors would be baffled if they could see how I spend my days.