Bloody minded literalism.

-but rest assured that it is being written, at pace, and that if you like this, you will like the book. Have you guessed the working title?-

Even God has a bucket list.

Give me one more life. I could do it so much better.

Google dear, you know me better than I know myself.

I had a good line. What was it? Damn it! I have to write these down! Now the thought is lost forever.

I love reading encyclopaedias in my dreams. I don’t learn anything but I feel amazing.

I measure the passing of time by the passing of my taste buds.

I wish that one could choose the accent Google reads aloud.

I’ll let you in on a secret. People who studied economics at university aren’t pretend mathematicians. We’re pretend economists.

Method for winning the love of a child in two steps:
Offer it stickers for doing your bidding.
On occasion, beep.

Please eat pheasant mousse next to me so I appear less posh by comparison.

Right now I’m just wading through tomorrow.

Stop screwing with the time stream.

Stop waiting for them to fancy you back.

Tell me please. What is this thing that you call love?

The desktop hums and calms me like a mother’s whisper.

The room bookings office are my life story’s antagonists.

The wall has pores so big I could fit a model train in them.

The wind makes metal sandwich boards roar.

There are some days when even wearing yellow trousers and cooking breakfast won’t cheer me up.

Split lip? That’s your expression muscles getting stronger.

The best months are the ones whose first letters can easily be replaced by “M”. You know, Movember, Manuary, Moctober, March.

The nineties were filled with gunge.

The revolution is already complete. We lost.

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