On Alex Boxall And Doing Stuff
My friend Alex Boxall is getting on my nerves.
It’s not because he has better facial hair than me. It’s not even because of his relentless determination to turn every single worship song into a country number.
My friend Alex Boxall is getting on my nerves.
It’s not because he has better facial hair than me. It’s not even because of his relentless determination to turn every single worship song into a country number.
It has taken me a long time to pluck up the courage to write this blog post. I think, until now, I have been unwilling to face the reality of my loss. Unwilling to admit that it really happened.
You see, it has been 4 months now since I last saw my beloved water bottle. My faithful friend, my constant companion, the source of my life. My confidant, my closest ally. My butler, and my bodyguard.
This post is dedicated to him.
Prepare to be shocked and amazed as I unpack the centuries-old secrets of the popular, yet controversial nursery rhyme, Little Miss Muffet. Caution advised.
My mind has, on occasion, been known to wander.
One such occasion was in a recent meeting when my eye, eager for some sort of distraction, was caught by an empty candleholder. Unremarkable in and of itself, its main attraction was the astonishingly detailed warning label found inside it.
My mind has, on occasion, been known to wander.
Only occasionally of course. Most of the time I remain as focused and as single-minded as a harassed shopper determined to avoid eye contact with a charity fundraiser.
As you are quite possibly aware, at the start of each New Year I embark on the perilous quest that is the annual cleaning of my trusty steed, the Mikeyra. (Trusty steed is a metaphor. The Mikeyra is a car, not a horse. And cleaning is a literal term, rather than a euphemism for some sort of equine colonic irrigation)
So you may not have heard, but I’ve just got a new job writing internet headlines.
It’s an under-appreciated art. Mark my words, in years to come all of the world’s most celebrated artists will be internet headline writers. Personal wealth will no longer be measured in pounds and dollars but in the number of clicks one’s links generate.
Recently, I performed the required yearly cleansing ritual on my car, in order that it may be presented without blemish upon the day of reckoning.
The following is a list of things I found inside its rusty innards whilst completing the rite:
Today boys and girls, we will be looking at the oft-misunderstood topic of joy. I hope to delight, inspire and enlighten you with a few little-known facts about the elusive concept:
Joy spelled backwards is yoj.
In this comfortingly weird corner of the Internet that I have fashioned for myself, I have always been wary of merely keeping a public journal.
I am more interested in surreal monologues on Scottish tennis players or absurd poetry about baked goods and American political leaders than in pouring out my heart or sharing my day-to-day mundanity for its own sake.