If The Seventies Were Bulbous, And The

Nowadays, My Mood Ungoverned, I'm Free To Think The Most Outrageous Things, Such As: Might It Not Be A Good Idea To Insist That Drug Companies Give Their Preparations Names That Tell The User What They Really Do?

I'd Rather Fiddle With My Phone For Precious Seconds Than Neglect An Apostrophe; I'd Rather Insert A Word Laboriously Keyed Out Than Resort To Predictive Texting For A - Acceptable To Some - Synonym.

I'm English Enough To Feel Something Of A Gut-reaction To Modernism, To Continental Philosophising And Anything That Smacks Of A Refusal To Pay Attention To The Forensics: The Empirical Facts On The Ground.

If We Bought Everything On The Internet, Our Eyes And Mouths And Nostrils Would Probably Begin To Film Over With A Tegument - One Initially Tissue-thin And Capable Of Being Removed Each Morning, But Which Gradually Thickened And Hardened Until We Were Imprisoned In Our Own Tiny Minds.

In My View The Plangent Artificiality Of A Lot Of Creative Work Results From The Fact That The People Who Write Novels, Direct Films And Put On Plays Tend To Read Too Many Novels, Watch Too Many Films And Go To Too Many Plays.