There is, however, one problem. isn't there always? however- this roseate disposition does- my dears, i'm so sorry- carry with it sad, yet perfectly understandable, given the circumstances, onuses. Namely, of course (of course) I can't think of anything to complain about. The charming yet gloriously incompetent girl upstairs who is either holding a tea-party for a small civilisation of highly disgruntled cats or trying to play the violin, i've not yet quite worked it out, can do nothing do dampen my spirits. No matter that the plaster is falling in swathes about me, the place needed redecorating anyway.
What all this leaves me with- save a decidedly dubious looking chunk missing from my ceiling- is a cavernous lacunae stretching away down the page, which needs to be filled, and I fully intend it continue in such a vein until it goes away. It's at times like this that- and it's not, at least in my instance, a frequent desideratum- i rather wish I were politically minded. I have an urge to poke the conservatives with sticks, and laugh mockingly at labour and all they stand for, and.. well, I draw the line at making fun of any party with Charles Kennedy in charge of it, simply because he is so endearingly Scottish. However, I consider myself far too nescient of such matters to risk an opinion- indeed, I think that rather applies to just about every field imaginable, so I shall delicately refrain from making any more of a nincompoop of myself than I have hitherto already done.
That, you will no doubt have punctiliously noticed, leaves us much as we were before, but- importantly- halfway down the page. and that is not inconsequential. By no means. Quite right. Anyway, as I now cast around futilely for inspiration, not to mention a good metaphor- in a manner not dissimilar from that of a man- or, and why not, in this age of glorious equality- or woman who has lost her- or his, of course- headgear in an unexpectedly strong gust of wind, I can't help feeling somewhat...well I'll be honest with you- somewhat hungry. And I have, here, the perfect recipe for the intellectual in need of sustenance. To make... well, call it what you will- what, after all, is in a name- but to make the following delicious snack, you will need:
-one packet of abernethy biscuits
-one jar of nutella
-a spreading implement, I would suggest a knife, but feel free to improvise.
I think the rest is more or less self-explanatory, but a word of warning- abernethy biscuits are not as solid as they might be, and, seeing as how nutella is really rather viscous, I would not advise dipping the former in the latter, as it will only result in crummy nutella, and one does not want that.
Anyway, having been fortified within and without, I feel suitably trenchant to career happily off towards the end of this- I think you'll be forced to agree- hugely entertaining, informative, and generally really rather funky, yet refreshingly brief dissertation with something approximating gay abandon. Which is always nice, but of course.
So. ladies, gentlemen, bunny rabbits all, I wish you a hugely good evening, I do suggest you try out that little suggestion of mine- unless, of course, you happen to be allergic to nuts, obviously. or don't like nutella. Or, and i think this might be a common complaint, particularly amongst those of you in more backward areas, can't find any abernethy biscuits. in that eventuality, I'd suggest nice biscuits (that is, biscuits from nice, rather than biscuits of a prepossessing nature), but they're not quite the same. if you don't like nutella, then you could perhaps try using icing, instead. do, i suggest, what you will. It's been simply delightful talking to you all, do mind the step on the way out.
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