Blip, Interrupted

Well, that was a long thirty six hours. I've been away to Exeter and back again since last I wrote, explaining the slight posting irregularity, and also why everything is now being written in a Devon accent. What? You can't tell? What a waste. One interview down and potentially two to go, and still undecided at heart. The problem with being indecisive is that you can never quite choose what decision to not make. Or whether it's worth the dithering.

As always, 'it was an odd trip', a sentence that might be inscribed on all my equipment. Never does a trip go by where sleep occurs easily, where food doesn't become a horrific ordeal, and where the object of the journey goes straightforwardly. It is the nature of travelling, to always be in a state of flux and never settled in your own mind, as if the world were a giant ball of jelly and all of us merely wobbly bystanders. The prose is running quickly here, especially in the wake of the instantaneously revelation that my trip was unsuccessful. At least that's one less decision to make, then!

Now for a seeming 'non sequitir', secretly concealing an actual 'non sequitir'...

Oh, the curse of the 'woofits', that archaic word that means an unwell feeling or depression. If only I had known the word 'woofits' I would have used it extensively for years on end. "Golly, insert name here, you look as if you've got a dose of the woofits!" "Oh, don't bother me now, for the woofits have got me." Of course, we can't use it any more due to the negative connotations of connecting women even indirectly to the unflattering label of 'dog', meaning someone unappealing in physical appearance. It's a cruel language, and a nasty expression, hence 'woofits' has gone by the wayside along with 'fabulist' and all the other words I pull out during these esoteric blogs.

One consequence of chime-induced insomnia, a failed interview, and two hours on a bicycle is that at least sleep will surely ensue tonight. The insomnia shall not win, there will be no woofits, and the world will still be there tomorrow. Should the world not be there tomorrow, you will all have to provide written alibis for where you were when it disappeared. No excuses will be tolerated, and everyone had best start taking notes now. At least there's the lovely recent memory of 'The Secret Life of Walter Mitty' and the current reading of 'Uncle Fred In The Spring Time' to take the sting out of a possible missing world.

O.

PS Go go, gadget Wodehouse!