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Showing posts from January, 2014

In a flap

Sometimes you need a flapjack. There is no metaphor here, because if there is one thing that cannot be used figuratively it is a flapjack. I'm not reporting something here, I am telling you that this is the way it must be. If you need to make an overarching point via the medium of analogy use football matches or a paperclip factory, or Belgium, leave the crazy fudged up oats alone. Sometimes you need a flapjack. It was such a day today. The centre of Bristol has jettisoned its Chandos sandwich shop, has thrown the woman with the Salted Monks by the Watershed into mythological memories. You are a man surrounded only by pretzels. Only by pretzels. People really want to sell you pretzels. They carry plates of pretzels around offering you free sample after free sample after free sample. The world has produced too many pretzels and the pretzel foot soldiers are hungry for battle. In a few years they will be tired and disillusioned as happens in every war, but for now they only want y