Click click click

I am in a very vague and wandery-about mood, so if my sentences might trail off or stop without warning, my grammatical bits get wobbly, my metaphors lie down for a bit of a nap or I make no sense whatsoever. Well, that's just what you get if you cross an empty room to an open door and drop into Jimbo from Stoke on Trent, who likes going on the razzle with George, or Tina from Crewe, who doesn't.

It all starts thanks to the lexicographical analysis, which I have to typeset and which I don't want to because it is very boring indeed and the author uses very long sentences to send me to sleep, and probably even his mum, who he's dedicated the book to, so I take to clicking around some blogs. Now I apologise to everyone everywhere but this is a bus ticket to oblivion.

Because shortly I'm not looking at home education blogs anymore, oh no. Someone was foolish enough to enclose an intriguing link on their blog and within seven minutes I've hopped through to someone in the US who eats cheese. Then I'm off again, clicking on someone who likes cooking fish and then someone who just found out she had a half-brother before stumbling over some sad, sad student in South east Asia who's had an argument with her mum, so her mum sends her some pictures of anorexic girls, and then I have to go there now and Ugh urgh urgh for a good ten minutes before wandering off to let my eyes slide over some fat issues from a feminist persective, and how to avoid getting fat by thinking, and from that point I'm slid away. I have no more willpower, focus or intent and am just a gigantic index finger on a mouse button going click click click.

I'm not just hopping about from country to country, telling myself it's educational research on today's youth culture and not to worry if black-eyed beans are burning because Suz says you can always use vinegar to get the carbon off. Not at all, I'm wandering about anything and anywhere, watching a man slide downstairs on a tea tray and a dodo playing the harp; a woman who's in love with her dog and a man who's cheating on his two wives and I'm one hour fifty minutes into this pit when the door opens and there's Dig, come to see how functional syntax is getting along.

My goodness, that's the first bit of prompt reaction and focus I've shown in the best part of the last two hours. I've just been clicking through a website on how to have an affair without your partner finding out. Apparently, spending hours on the computer is a give-away. And I'm calling up that screen on functional syntax quicker than you can say Lord dodo.

Actually I quite liked Lord dodo playing the harp. See if you can find it.