I don't seem to write much in this diary these days. I think partly it's because the things that strike me as interesting enough to repeat to people are shorter and less meaningful, so where previously I might have written three paragraphs on the subject of (say) seeing something unusual walking down the street and what it indicated about the way I looked at things, I now just have one paragraph mentioning something momentarily silly with no conclusion or implication, and that means it hardly seems worth walking all the way to the computer to write in here.

Right at the moment I happen to have a small collection of such fragments which haven't escaped my memory yet, so I can at least produce a credible diary entry by amalgamating them:

• Last week I bought some Boursin, as a means of using up some spare savoury biscuits. This caused me to form a new conspiracy theory, which is that Boursin was invented by somebody whose primary business was in selling kitchen-cleaning products. I don't think I've made such a mess in five minutes for years.
• Also last week I received a spam whose subject line, for one glorious and perfect moment, I thought said ‘Fly Under the Radar with Stealth Socks’. Sadly, it was ‘Stocks’.
• Today I woke up to find my brain had somehow brought ‘The Matrix’ together with ‘The Gasman Cometh’: Neo singing ‘He called me Mister Anderson, which isn't quite my name’. Fortunately, I have no other worthwhile lyrics for this and hence am in no serious danger of perpetrating a filk.