To be fair, I have learnt a lot about clay target shooting that I didn’t know before breakfast.

Brekfast is not for meetings. It is a sacred private time between a man and his cats.

I should have listened to the whisperings of my heart, and not to the sysadmin who said the problem was nothing to do with file permissions.

Working with translators is fun. Also fun is saying “Papagallo!”

If you want a committee to send a strongly-worded letter, ask them to approve the wording of a VERY strongly-worded letter.

It has come to my attention that one John Scott “John Scott Russell” Russell has called into question my claim to original authorship and copyright over the term “headspat”, which of course refers to the ring of white hair worn by an elderly male superhero to indicate that he is older than he used to be, but still plenty heroic.

Mr. Russell’s claim rests in its entirety on the circumstantial evidence of a Twitter post he made from his cellphone shortly after hearing me coin the term, and mere seconds before I made my own claim of ownership from my own cellphone.  This nefarious usurpation was rendered still more egregious by the fact that we were at the time present in the same room, and I had already staked my claim to the term according to well-established conversational protocol. To the best of my recollection, the exchange proceeded as follows.

Me: That’s called… a headspat.

General hilarity, slaps on back, chorus of ” for he’s a jolly good fellow” and offers of marriage from all and sundry.

Mr Russell (twirling moustache): Why, that’s uncommonly good.  I do believe I shall steal it and pass it off as a phrase of my own invention.

Me: Good sir, I request that you desist from such a practice.

Mr Russell: Oh, but it is too late, my good friend.  For I have already begun to post a message to the world from my iPhone.

General consternation and angry exclamations.

Me: Confound you!  I should already have done so myself, but for the delay occasioned by my pausing to escort this squadron of fuzzy baby ducklings across a busy thoroughfare to where a distressed she-duck quacked plaintively for their return to the maternal embrace.

Mr. Russell: A pox on fuzzy ducklings!

Cries of shock. Swooning.

It is not for my own sake that I raise this issue. Were it but I wounded by this villainous purloiner, I should find it within my heart to forgive such conduct. One must allow a certain latitude in one such as he who was, after all, raised in the colonies. Nevertheless, I find it necessary to issue a warning to any others who may undertake to engage him in conversation: he is not to be trusted with your witticisms.

Figures from my pending patent application

I have spent the day drawing magic computer pixies. That is what I do for a living.

My start-up’s been accepted into the Canterbury Development Corporation’s High Tech Launch programme. There will be mentoring a-plenty.

Famous Original HeadSpats. Accept no imitations. I named it first.