Paspartout Got Hitched

Really? Oh Paspartout, what did you do? Gone are those heady days of reckless abandon, of shoeless bewilderment, and carefree encounters. Oh no, wait, that’s my loss of freedom we should be lamenting – the replacement of the adventure spirit with a new yolk of responsibility.

Yes indeed, Paspartout has finally made an honest man of me! I shall frolic no more; from forthwith, I shall trudge my weary way through life with the burdens of responsibility firmly rested upon my broad (and rather manly, it has to be said) shoulders.

Of course, one could (and probably should) argue that this move has firmly cemented the bonds of comradeship that I have with my ‘man’. “Cemented” – is it just me, or does it remind one of a cheap gangster movie?

It Isn’t Cricket

I have, more than once (both on this side of the Atlantic, and the ‘other’), been invited to a lunchtime meeting. As if the actual timing of said event wasn’t unsociable enough, by way of invitation, it was suggested we “brown-bag” it.

It’s bad enough to endure the fatuous content that so often pervades these insidious events as it is (pah – “meetings”); but to have them populated by those talking with their mouths full is simply unconscionable …