5pm, in Wetherspoons, minding my own business, reading the paper. The man behind me says "What are you reading?"
Oh fuck, here we go. I'm about to have a Tired Dad episode.
The paper.
Which one?
The Guardian.
What, the London Guardian?
No, the Manchester Guardian.
Where did you buy that?
It was getting out of hand, and I let go a stage whispered "For fuck's sake" to preface an annoyed "Just up there", and resolved to ignore anything else.
"Bloody middle class, middle class", I heard him muttering. It went on in that distinct Northern tone of inverse snobbery for a few minutes, until I silently gathered my middle class things and my middle class paper to find a seat at the opposite end of the pub. At which point he introduced an overdue note of humour.
"You going? Can I get you a taxi to Waitrose?"
Back from France, re-enthused about the language, I send an email to a local language school enquiring about intensive French courses. A five day course costs £1500. I replied saying that £1500 is "way beyond my budget", hoping that she'd come back with details of the Asda-grade EconoFrench course they're reluctant to advertise, but no.
Instead, I'm downloading an immersive course called French in Action, which, as well as being free, has the added attraction of using a well-known motivational technique for some language learners by "focusing on Mireille's legs, or breasts when she isn't wearing a bra".
I am a Twitter sensation! Or slight itch anyway. Fiddling about with my LinkedIn profile during a PhD avoidance session, I pressed something, I know not what, and it sent invites to everyone in my address book. A friend of mine mentioned it on Twitter and it was retweeted at least six times.
It was less fun than it sounds: I got a couple of snotty emails from people I hardly know who have obviously operated all computer programs perfectly since birth, and was temporarily banned from the local freecycling group.
An overdue mention goes to Unbearable, who has been involved in producing a beautiful looking handmade book which combines some Springsteen lyrics for Thunder Road with Nick Hornby's essay about it; which "annihilated a great friendship".
