I broke my pen just now. It isn’t a fancy-arsed pen or anything. But still annoying, don’t you think. It is one of those generic bic-esque pens. With the twisty end that keeps the ink-refill part from moving. You know the type? With my ever-so-accurate description you really should know it. Anyway; I have a habit of messing with whatever is to hand. And in this case it was the pen, so I was twisting and untwisting the end when I twisted too far and broke it. :( So sad.
I know, I know, this really is a fascinating post. But to be totally and completely honest the details of my life are far too private and scandalous to be loosed upon the straight-laced environment that makes up the internet. I wouldn’t want to offend anyone’s delicate sensibilities by revealing the salacious gossip that circulates all around.
Details I can only hint at here, evening spent… watching telly! Playing football! And even, maybe I shouldn’t tell the truth, maybe I should hide away behind the tale of how I process new books? No, I won’t I’ll reveal all, visits to a pub have occurred. Visits to different pubs in fact. Now, I’ve gone and done it haven’t I? Shocked your innocents minds with such tales.
Title is from The School for Scandal by Richard Brinsley Butler Sheridan