Bad memories

My other realisation on returning my blog, currently entitled 'punch political philosophy', is that it is incredibly teenage, akin to a kitschy diary of the sort that, with hindsight, you wish you could burn.

The first of these reasons has been partially dealt with. I can now write competently enough to be understood by a semi-telepathic native speaker. This is in stark contrast to my previous magna opera (a word I have always sought to deploy in the plural). Looking back, it is near-impossible to miss the irony. Now, though, I have achieved functionality. My next task, I suppose, is to make it worth reading. (Humour classes or some such are in order).

The second has barely subsided. Indeed, by some accounts, it has increased. (That I am referencing it now is probably testament to that fact). And yes, it is true, I am depressingly pretentious; political chat-up lines are my favourite.

"I wanna screw you like Thatcher screwed the miners in the 1980s,"

springs to mind, re-iterating calls for those humour classes, I am sure. I may or may not have used this at a recent bash - to mixed reactions.

The third is most encouraging. Truthfully, I detest what I wrote because I wrote it, and at such an irritating age. I now have the arrogance to assume (or wilfully ignore the painful reality) that such a state has long passed. To adulthood, and beyond! (Note: this is not to say that I believe in an afterlife).