Sorry Dan, really I am. I mean, you go and post a splendid little video like the previous post and then I come blundering in and start banging on about one of my obsessions. Sorry mate...
Anyway, as My Reader will be all too aware I hold a belief that everyone on this planet is actually named Keith. Yes, Keith. Regardless of culture, geography - whatever the circumstance - it is my unshakable conviction that we all have an inner core of Keithness which we carry throughout our lives. Of course, we may deny our inner Keithness, but this is merely bad faith. Indeed, as my sister, Keith, once told me - "To deny one's inner Keithness is like planting a tree, roots up. Except that it's not..." I can't say that I understand the meaning of this, but I am entirely confident that it contains an element of truth - an element denied to all who bury their Keithness beneath such tinsel as Jack or Hussein or Jemima or Bjorn or Sally. Deny all you like, we true Keith's know.
What's more, we have written a book stating that this is the truth. And so we can say, 'it is written' - and it is. So there!
Have you heard the one about the German comedian? No, nor have I...
Anyway, I find that when waiting to have a piss, if I say 'Roy Orbison', then I am able to make water with ease. The high-warbling one is, then, a diuretic. This is just one of many useful life skills I have acquired over the years, and I am happy to share this with you.
Isn't life a funny... the other day I realised that one of my hands had quite changed in appearance. It seems to me that this transformation must've been instantaneous - although, being nearly incapable, I am quite capable of missing such an event. Anyway, whereas once my hands were both quite square and hairy and robust in appearance, now one of them is slender and lady-like. Look, here is my new hand:
I think you will agree that the ring looks rather fetching, adorning my slender finger like a... like a diamond ring on a slender finger.
Anyway, my friend, The Cush, reassures me that it is quite a commonplace event for a body part to spontaneously change gender in this way (although I wish he would refrain from stroking his furry front-purse, and leering at me, whilst telling me this). Why should one be troubled by such things? It is, after all, only a hand; and in the realms of onanism I can see distinctive advantages to this development. In fact, I have to go and attend to a matter-in-hand right away...
