Tweeting, blogging and all that comes between (Rousse)

I burst with pride on two counts: first that Damon Albarn had chosen my pal SJ as the lead singer in his new virtual band; and second that I had worked this out all my own when “Rod Patterson” started following me on Twitter. The avatar was so realistic as a rock star, with long grey hair and a tall hat. Even so, from all the other clues I could still tell that SJ was the voice behind the cartoon

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How extraordinary that following redundancy both KT and VJ took part-time work sorting out the linen and admin at the same launderette!

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The bed and breakfast was filthy, and the landlady barely acknowledged us as her guests. She preferred to stare at daytime television from a blackened sofa shoved against the wall of her darkened sitting room. We were really glad that we would be moving out soon. We just needed to arrange where stay in the short period between leaving this dump and taking possession of our new flat. I knew that Pollock Halls at the University of Edinburgh did short-term lets for couples, so we made an enquiry. My colleague PC and his German wife were in the same position as us, so we visited together. As soon as we established that we were two married couples (they’d run out of rooms for two girls sharing), and that our request for accommodation did not clash with a huge booking for a 30th birthday party taking place the next day, we were in business.

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I promised the teacher to retake A level English in an attempt to improve my 1981 grade. However, on close examination we discovered that all the texts on the syllabus had changed, and the only one with which I had any familiarity was Hamlet. I was bound to fail, so I decided not to turn up for the exam. TPR then pointed out that if I was a no-show, I’d surely get a U by default. If I actually sat the paper and did terribly, I might also get a U. However, given A level grade inflation over the past 30 years, it was more likely that I would get an A*. I would give it a go, after all.

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The massive computer screen and mouse at the street corner were ideal for updating the Dreamaticus blog. With time, however, as the crowds round me started to form into a queue I realised that I needed to log off and find my friends quickly for the big show. The only problem was that the computer screen then froze and it was impossible to exit WordPress safely. I was paralysed. I really wanted to join my pals, but there was no way that I would expose the oeuvre of Rousse and Belle to the risk of hacking.

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