b) Back from the future?
c) Back for a bit?
Answer: c, you delectable clots!
Well hello, readers. Have you missed me? That's fine, I haven't missed you either for I have been extraordinarily busy doing lots of important, glamorous and extraordinary things here in NYC. You will be delighted to learn that my internship as an iced tea-making slave, I mean my internship as a typographical wunderkind, has been extended. But won't that mean...? Yes, I may not be coming back to Britannia until Royal Baby George has grown up into a fulsome figure of a man and contracted his first STD (the lice will arrive bearing the royal insignia so not to worry). In the meanwhile, and to satiate your insatiable Well Fan My Brow appetites, I promise to (never kept a promise in my life) blog occasionally (once in a blue moon) on any topic that happens to strike me as interesting (nuts).
So without further ado, let's get the feck on with the blog!
A concerned and imaginative soul from Blackburn, Lancs writes:
Mitzy,
When you see a spade, do you say: 'That there is a spade?' I would love to see a spade and call it a spade. But unfortunately due to suffering from an over-active imagination which has caused me un-told distress throughout my life, I simply cannot. I imagine wonderful things happening but then get extremely depressed when I realize they will never happen. Conversely, I imagine terrible things happening and then get extremely depressed because I am imagining terrible things happening. I would just like to see a spade, recognise that it is a spade, and call it a bloody spade. Anyway, have you heard of a brain drill known as the I.L. Op? The initials stand for Imagination Lobotomy. I feel that I would be a lot happier if I could just see spades for how they really are, Mitzy. What do you think?
Firstly, let me say that I do not always call a spade a spade. Sometimes I say its a shovel. Putting my flippantry to one side for a moment, concerned reader, let me ask you this: who is behind this 'brain drill' - Dr. Crippin? Dr. Tim Whatley? Dr. Spaceman? Secondly, do you really think that having no imagination is the secret to happiness? Actually, you could be onto something there; my great uncle Tobias was born without one and died with a very big smile on his face. Of course it could have been because he'd just been watching Stephanie Beacham in The Colby's before croaking it. He liked her in that. We all did. But I digress and so to answer your query bluntly: I think that to go through with this operation would be a very unimaginative move. Just take a look at the chap at the top of this post - how cool does the inside of his head look! I'd give my right ventricle for a brain like that. OK, so he doesn't look so happy but ach! Why be happy when you can have a noggin like that? You know it makes sense.*
See you in a bit, dreamy readers!
*My imagination ran out at this point and I struggled to imagine how to finish this reply more imaginatively. Sorry.
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