Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Friday, 30 September 2016
I beg your forbearance
After last night's lack of nceticing, I compared the way my writing experience (to use the current survey-speak) has been improved/impoverished by removing any form of spell-check from this computer. I am undecided, but at least I read through this shite at least once before I hit the publish button.
The pros include not having to correct the 'correct' American spellings, even though I had set the machine to U.K. English years ago, and that I do not have to put up with the internal dictionary having the vocabulary of an eight year-old and suggesting words which I would have rejected myself at that age, when I am half-way through typing them.
The cons include adding an extra 'a' to 'that' as I did just now above, because accumulated work-injuries have produced a spur of bone-growth on the left knuckle of my little finger which keeps hitting the 'a' key without me noticing (or nceticing). This problems is worse at night, which is one of the reasons I usually only post in the daytime.
The other reason is that my sense of balance and reason is usually thrown out of kilter by the evening drinks quota, and I end up either swearing at people or expressing a life-long ambition to have a sexual relationship with them. Neither of these is a very good idea when viewed in the cold light of day.
I do, however, leave and respond to comments in the evening.
You will be familiar with the way in which I block people who look at me the wrong way at night, or how I become inappropriately suggestive with some of the female bloggers. What you don't know is the background to this behaviour.
When I leave the pub at around 6.30pm, I walk the quarter mile or so home, and my progress is either hindered by idiots getting in my way, or diverted by having to follow a particularly shapely arse in tight trousers. By the time I get home, the tone has been set by whatever mental state either of these situations has produced.
More often than not, both of these things happen simultaneously. I cannot count the amount of times that an idiot has got in the way of my view of a particularly shapely arse.
Now that you know this, I hope you can be a bit more understanding the next time I swear at you, or make a lewd comment about your underwear.